Saturday, March 24, 2012

How does working in a restaurant affect your weight?

I've found in my diner it can go one of two ways.
You can't resist all the goodies that are right in front of you, and you gain weight by eating french fries and chicken fingers and rice pudding. It's so much easier and cheaper to grab a cheesesteak at work then wait till you get home and cook something healthier.
Or, you don't eat at work and all the running around takes a few pounds off.

Working in the restaurant hurt me so much a few years back, when I was going through some personal issues and cheered myself up by emotional over-eating.
It took me almost two years, but I've recently gotten to my goal weight through sheer willpower at work (and obviously the exercise). I'm afraid that I'm going to be complacent now that I am happy with my weight, and be a little lax about what I put in my body (food-wise, you perverts).

How has working in a restaurant affected your weight and eating habits? Did you put on any poundage, or lose any? How do you avoid binges?

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Working six days a week.

It wears on you. I no longer put up with the 'original jokesters,' and you know who I mean.
"Anything else for you today?"
"The winning lottery numbers?! HAHAHAHA."
They get a raised eyebrow and silence.

Today I had one of those, coupled with racism and inappropriate questioning.
"Are you in high school? College? Wow! What are you studying? what can you do with that?"

Deal breaker was when I mentioned something major related, and he brought up Indian reservations.
"No sir, not Native Americans, African-Americans."
"Is that the same as Negro?"
Ohhh. "Well, we prefer to use a term more up-to-date and politically correct."

So I was no longer even tolerating him.
He had ordered meatloaf with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes with gravy. For some reason, the cook had put brown gravy on the potatoes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't even notice. Did you want mushroom gravy for the potatoes? I can run right back in."
"Oh, no, it's fine, it'll just come out your tip. Haha, hur hur."
"No problem.. I wasn't expecting much anyway."

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

You don't have to go home, but..

get the fuck ooooooouuuuutttttt.

What are your tricks for getting campers to leave?

We have a hostess who will turn the radio up for certain customers to scooch, or if it's late, we do the classic turn the radio and lights down.
My personal favorite is turning the wifi off for customers who treat the diner as an office, bringing a bunch of paperwork to sit for three hours and just order a cup of coffee. Come on guys, Dunkin Donut's is two doors down. I don't mind you doing computer work or watching porn or whatever the hell you're doing, if you order a meal and compensate me for the time you took up my booth. But to sit for hours, get endless coffee refills, and leave me a dollar? Heeeeeelllls no.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Don't argue with me.

I've got big attitude in a tiny package, and usually only those closest to me can tell when my chipper smile really means, "Go fuck yourself."

Last Tuesday, we got busy busy busy. It was starting to wind down, when I got sat with a party of five. As I had been saying to tables all night, I greeted them with a, "Hi! We're a little busier than expected this evening, so please bear with me. Can I get you some drinks to start?" They all ordered, and I returned promptly. They weren't ready. While at my other tables, I heard them arguing amongst themselves.
"You've had an attitude all night. It's not my fault you had to work all day!"
"I TOLD you I wasn't going to order anything!"
Their menus were closed, so I went over again. Still not ready. Nor the next time I went over, because of course the owner is there and it makes me look like I'm slacking. To make this a bigger issue, when they finally were ready, they CAME UP to the register looking for me! Now I look incompetent.

I go, everyone orders, not too difficult. The dad asks brain-cell-killingly dumb questions, many of which I don't remember now. The mom asks if I can replace the coleslaw that comes alongside the sandwiches with applesauce, and I tell her no.
"The coleslaw is a garnish, I can't replace it with a full vegetable. You can substitute the fries, though!"
No, they don't want that.

The food comes out, three of which have a few onion rings on top - again, as a garnish. They look at me like I just served live snakes on top of their fried chicken and said, "You can take those right back!
.... can we substitute applesauce?"
Again, "No, sorry, it's just a garnish and I can't replace it."
The dad - "What's a garnish?"
"The onion rings and the coleslaw are garnishes."
"No.. I mean what IS a garnish?"
Uhhhhmmm. I give him a quick explanation, hoping all will be well and I can scurry away to my tables with higher IQ's.
A summed up version of the conversation that followed:
Dad: "Boy, you guys don't substitute anything here!"
Me, starting to get annoyed because he is becoming very condescending: "That's not true, sir. We substitute vegetables, potatoes, french fries, most sides, really."
Dad: "Well, I don't know why they give coleslaw or onion rings anyway. Nooobody likes them."
Me, definitely annoyed: "Not true. Our coleslaw and onion rings are homemade, and most of the customers I've encountered really enjoy them."
Dad: "Well, I've never met anyone who likes either!"
Really, dude? Really?
Me: "Well, now you have. I happen to enjoy our coleslaw very much, and the onion rings are one of my favorite things on the menu. I know our hostess this evening and one of the other waitresses loves them too."
I was trying to outwardly sound friendly, but inside I was seething, and I think it was starting to show through. I walked away.

Rest of the meal was uneventful, until the son complained (at the end of dinner) that I hadn't given crackers with their soup. I lifted up the bread basket to show him a layer of crackers that was just under the rolls, all of which they had eaten, so I don't see how the crackers weren't obvious to them. He insisted I should have told him. Sorry, bro, didn't know you were blind and/or retarded.

They got desserts, after I had to repeat the ice cream choices three times and check what brand we carried (?!). As they left, they asked my name. Unfortunately, I couldn't lie as our place is so small with so many regulars, and a fairly small staff. However, when I saw the tip, I was surprised! Ten dollars on a 45-ish tab, which is way more than I expected. It didn't quite make up for the aggravation, but it helped.

Friday, March 2, 2012

"Duuuude" update.

Four of the six stoners came in again last night, and sat in another server's section.
Two came in first that I didn't recognize. Then the two guys, one of which had paid came in to meet them. I raised my eyebrow and waited for them to say something.
"Uh.. we're... uh... meeting someone."
Good, they looked guilty. I pointed to where the other two were.

I chased the server down. "M, those are the ones that left me 2 on 50 last week, so don't bust your ass."
"Oh, I know, two of them ordered appetizers and two aren't ordering because they just came from McDonald's."

Good Lord.
Lucky for her, one of the girls paid and gave her four bucks, which was maybe 20%.
I know it wasn't the service - M and I have been there the same amount of time, have a very similar sense of humor and service, and her regulars and my regulars are interchangeable. So, yes, that guy was just an asshole. Or, as M would say, a dickwrinkle.