You know you're a server when..

-You have an endless supply of ones, fives, etc. People always come to you to break twenties and if you're young enough, the bank assumes you're a stripper.

-Friends have a love/hate relationship with eating out in your company. Love because you can split the check and calculate the tip in the bink of an eye. Hate because you tend to say things like, 'Oh.. I wouldn't have done that." or, "No, see, she's just ringing in their food and then she's going to run get outs, don't worry!"

-Other servers/bartenders love you. If you're not an asshole, you tip well, stack the plates, and generally try to act the way you wish your customers did.

-You pretty consistently smell like onions and french fries. You attract very strange people of the opposite sex for that reason.

-Endless supply of pens. If you can't find one, you have another and you'll probably find the original later that night behind your ear or in your ponytail.

-If you've done it long enough, you develop a vice to deal with the total lack of faith you now have in humanity. Smoking, drinking, arts and crafts, what have you.

Random thoughts of the night, luckily I actually jotted them down tonight. Anything to add?

I live!

I am so, so sorry. I'm between a break-up, and school, and just general confusion.
The diner is... the same as it always is.
"What are the difference between the fried crab cakes and the broiled crab cakes?" etc.

I promise I will be a real person again soon!

Gross.

I saw a guy scratch his back with his knife last night.
I don't know if this was before, after, or during use of said knife but... gross.

So, hi, I'm still alive!

I am proud to be a Food Stories Nominee For Excellence in Storytelling over at Food Stories Blog! I was nominated by DTG at at lifeinthedrivethru!

Here are the requirements:

1. The nominee should visit the award site here and leave a comment indicating that they have been nominated and by whom. (This step is so important because it’s the only way our judges will know who is being considered for the monthly presentation).

2. The Nominee should thank the person that nominated them by posting & including a link to their blog.

3. Share one random thing about yourself in your blog post.

4. Select at least five other bloggers that you enjoy reading their stories and nominate them for the award.

5. Notify your nominees by leaving a comment on their blog, including a link to the award site (http://foodstoriesblog.com/food-stories-award/).

Food Stories will put together a team of judges to review all nominees and to select a Food Stories Award Winner for each month. More information to come on what fabulous opportunities await for those lucky winners!

Something random about myself: I'm a true Jersey girl, and collect those silly t-shirts from the boardwalk. "gettin dirty in Jersey," "Jersey girls don't pump gas," etc. 

My nominees are (in no particular order):

The Bitchy Waiter - everything we think, but don't say. 

Do You Do That At Home? - one of the first food service blogs I came across, and still one of my favorites 

According to Sauce - another one of the first I've encountered. She's hot AND funny. 

The Slightly Cranky (Former) Waitress - I miss her waitress stories, but she still manages to make awesome posts. 

DTG - don't know if I can re-nominate, but I love all his posts!

"I know it may look like I was being like a bitch, but that's only because I was acting like a bitch."

I've become know as a little bit of a "mean girl" lately at the diner. I'm not taking shit from the cooks, and I'm I'm sure as heck not taking shit from new girls. As I'm sure all my readers know, turnover is very high at restaurants and it's not worth it to get to know anyone unless they last more than a week or so. We recently got a batch of maybe four or five new girls, and half of them I'm okay with. The other half...

One of them is on something, I'm convinced. Let's call her R. She's always moving her mouth, she's always moving her feet, she's always very loud. I thought it was alcohol, but other people are saying it seems more like crack.

So the owner comes in with her stepdaughter and a few grandsons, and R is waiting on them. I'm in the kitchen picking up food, and R storms in. She throws down her checkbook, hollering something about "that little bastard, that little bitch." I just widen my eyes and wait. Apparently the one grandson (about 9 or 10) ordered bacon when he meant sausage, or something silly like that. And she is furious. I make an offhand comment, something along the lines of, "Wow. If something like this will set you off, maybe you're in the wrong line of work!" and walk out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she beckons me over. "Honey, can I talk to you in the kitchen?"
Oh dear. I may be blonde, I may be young, but I can tell when people are being condescending, and that is one thing that really gets my goat. I'm thinking, 'only one of us will be coming out of this kitchen.'
"I've been in this business 25 years. I know what I'm doing. My mother is in the hospital and I'm really upset right now and I'm ripping on everything" etc, etc.
I can barely remember what my response was, I was so shaking mad.
"I don't give a fuck if you've been a waitress for 100 years, I don't give a fuck if you're the Pope's favorite server. When we come to work, we leave our personal life at the door and we fucking do our job. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, and don't fucking call a 10-year old a little bitch, especially the owner's grandson."
And I walked out.

She made one more snippy comment, "Honey, your table 2 needs his check."
And I responded, "Don't worry sweetie, I know how to do my job."
And didn't talk to me for the rest of the night.

She tried to run to the MOD to tell "her side" of the story before I got to her, but MOD took me outside and I told her the truth. She told me she would never disbelieve anything I told her. So I told the other owners and the cook (part-owner), who all took my side. I presume she'll be out by the end of this week.

Pay attention!

I think I've written about this before, but please pay attention to your server!
Last night, a table of two ladies (that weren't mine) were staring at me. I went over and asked if they needed something.
"Can you get our waitress?"
"Well, is it something I can do for you?"
They wanted me to heat up a dish. Fine, I did.
Later on, they were staring at me again. I go over.
"Are you our waitress?"
Uhm... no. Your waitress is a middle-aged brunette and I am a 20-something blonde.

How can you be so unaware of your surroundings, or put servers so low on the totem pole that you honestly think anyone in an apron is the same person?

Do you really want me to answer that?

I feel like this could be a running series, but I don't know how this one would be topped.

A couple coworkers and I were commenting on the heat, and I said, "Thank god for the fans, I'm getting a little air right here."
A man was sitting at the counter waiting for his to-go, he was very difficult and VERY slow and VERYVERY confused about... well, everything.
He says, "Yeah, I love air. Do you.. love air?"
I look at my coworkers, and we are all trying to keep straight faces.
"Well... yeah, I like air."

We immediately ran into the kitchen to break into giggle fits and think of better responses.
"Yes, I need it to live, so I'm pretty dependent."
"No, I prefer to suffocate slowly until the sweet icy grip of death overtakes me."
or a simple, "Nope." said with the straightest face. That never would have passed because I canNOT keep a straight face, and everyone knows it. I don't get included in pranks because I blush uncontrollably and try not to laugh.

Am I overreacting?

I forgot to mention this in my post about the crazy shit going down yesterday, but something else strange happened. I waited on a regular customer, who has always been pleasant, kind, a good tipper, etc.
When I gave him his check, he asked me if I knew about the gym in the mall a little ways down the road. I thought he wanted directions, and I started telling him how to get there.
"No, no, no, my son is a personal trainer and he owns it. I wanted to give you his card, you look like you could use some time in the gym."
Uh...................
He must have seen the shock and confusion in my face.
"I mean, you're beautiful, but you could be extra beautiful! A lot of women today think they have to be skin and bones, but I think you could benefit from some muscle tone."
Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh........
He kept going on about how he wasn't trying to be offensive, that he just thought I could use it!
The fuck? I was incredibly offended. I gained some weight after high school, and when I realized I wasn't happy with my body, I lost weight. The healthy way. Many people have commented on my small frame, but I'm happier with myself than I ever have been, and not once did I do anything but watch what I eat and work out. And yes, I may be tiny, but I can still lift trays with 10 plates on them and bus pans full of dishes.
All the girls were horrified too. "What? No! You look great!" One of them mentioned I should call the son and scold him for his father's tactics. So I did.
"Uhm, hi, I have your card here. I'm sure you're a lovely personal trainer, but your father just completely offended me with the way he went about offering your services."
I feel a little bad about it now, because I know the father is a nice guy, but I was really upset about it! I dwelled on it all night. I felt extremely self-conscious, until one of my regulars overheard me talking about it.
"Blondie, that guy is crazy. You are stunning. Women would kill to have your figure, not to mention your personality."
I know he meant it, and as shallow as it sounds, I think I needed to hear it from a man!

What do you guys think?

Big happenings.

First of all, I appreciate my readers' concern on my last post. I have started saying 'policia!' when he bothers me, and it stops all contact. At least until his drunk ass forgets three hours later, but whatever.

Anyway, the past few days have been exciting at the diner. On Monday, I broke. All the aforementioned personal shit came to a head when the crazy cook (I believe I've mentioned Mumbles before) continuously fucked up my orders and kept blaming it on me. I started bawling. And I could not stop. The hostess and day girl who was casually eating her shift meal before leaving had to completely take over, because I was incoherent. I sat in the back station and cried and cried for what felt like hours. Finally, I went into the bathroom and composed myself as much as I could. I tried to discreetly grab the hostess, but at this point, I didn't care too much. I told her I was sorry, but I had to go home.
"Blondie, I think if you just calm down, you can get back on the floor."
I told her, "Honestly, I don't think I can. And even if I could, my makeup looks like Ozzy Osbourne did it while recovering from a bad acid trip."
They told me to get it together as much as I could before leaving, they didn't want me driving so upset, but they would figure it out.

I was a little bothered by the fact that they were more concerned about getting me back on the floor than they were about my little freak-out, but at least in the end they had my back. What bothered me more is that at the end of the day, the cook who triggered me suffered no consequences. He stayed, he got his paycheck, while I missed out on an entire shift and received no apology.

Then, the next day, everyone around me was walking on eggshells. I hate gossip. I hated every head-tilt, every pat on the back, every "are you okay?" It had been less than twenty-four hours and everyone thought I was a mental case. Lord knows what the end result was after it went through the grapevine. My only saving grace was the cook who is part-owner. He came to me, (in broken English, adorably) and told me it would be okay. If I ever had a problem again, I had his number. He would come whenever he could, or send someone else to fix it. He said "I know you five years, and this isn't you."
I really appreciated that.

Then, today, one of the new(ish) girls caused an issue. Ever since she started, we all thought she was a little off. Nice enough, but very slow in her movements and speech. Someone said it seemed like she was on sedatives. Then, rumors were going around that she smelled like alcohol, from both customers and coworkers. We noticed when she went for a cigarette break, she went to her car rather than out back where the other smokers go, possibly because she had a bottle in there. She was warned a few times, told that she was free to smoke, but had to stay close enough to grab if a table needed her or she was sat, etc.
She did it again tonight. More than once. Finally, our night manager went out and said, "I'm so sorry, honey, this isn't working. You can pick up your paycheck tomorrow, but you're done."
She left. She called three times and our manager told her, "We're in the middle of dinner right now, but I promise I will call you when I can." And I know she meant it.
A half hour later, this bitch shows up! Manager says, "Blondie, hold down the fort, I'm going to talk to her outside."
Comes in about 15 minutes later and runs to me while I'm picking up food.
"She threatened me."
"She did what?"
"She told me I better be careful leaving the diner at night from now on."
the fuck?

Of course this shit is on the night I close, and we have to watch our backs when we leave.
So manager files a report with the police (possible overkill), and we have one of the cooks stay with us until the minute we walk out and lock the doors in our cars. We were fine, thank gosh, but who does that?

Sorry if it's a bit of a TL;DR, but it felt good to get all that off my chest, dear readers. 

The town drunk.

We have a Mexican dishwasher. He is always drunk, yet somehow never breaks a dish.
He also has a thing for the ladies. Depending on his level of intoxication, he will call you a beautiful princessita americana and that he loves you, all the way to ass-smacking. He has never touched me, I think he knows better after seeing me fight with the cooks and cause I'm 'the baby.'
However, Thursday night one of the ladies and I decided we had a rough night, and we wanted a shot of his vodka. Since then, it's non-stop.
"Oh, beautiful prencessita. I love you, te amo, you're beautiful."
He's grabbing on the other woman. It got to the point tonight that all the cooks and the busboy said he had had too much. We were afraid to go in the kitchen.
I'm pissed because everyone knows he's a drunk and terribly annoying when he takes it too far. But the owners won't do anything because he works for peanuts, under the table.

I'm going through a really rough patch right now in my personal life, and work is piling more and more shit on top of it. I feel I'm near my breaking point after five years. Le sigh.