Monday 30 May 2011

Cast of Characters

Right, well I'm starting to get confused with the aliases I've given everyone, so we'll get them straight now. This is only the front of house, kitchen staff and regulars will need their own separate posts.

Chief - The big boss (sort of, he's not actually allowed to own a bar because of past drug convictions, so technically his wife owns everything). He's a lovely guy who drinks Pinot Noir like it's going out of fashion, smokes like a chimney and has a wicked speed habit. Lovely and well-meaning though he is, he's going mad so drives us all fucking insane when he starts trying to tell us how to work.

Mrs Chief - Possibly the scariest woman I have ever met, and I don't scare easy. She's beautiful even though she must be pushing 60 and she's always flawlessly dressed. She owns everything and holds the liquor license cause Chief's not allowed to. I was terrified of her for months when I started, until we had a Secret Santa day last Christmas and showed up, excited as a little kid, wearing a Santa hat and gave everyone bottles of champagne. Now I'm slightly less scared of her.

Mario - The resident, crazy maitre d. He's about 5"7, 50 years old and very, very Italian (from Sicily). He calls everyone darling, takes hour-long smoke breaks and adores dirty jokes. He also drinks wine like no one I've ever seen, you hardly ever see him drink, but the give away is finding wine glasses with condensation still on them. He also has a tendency to drink glasses of wine meant for customers, especially on slow nights. A man his age, in this industry who does and says the things he does would have been fired long ago, but for his accent and skill at talking to people. It took me two months to be able to understand a word he said.

Odette - One of the managers, called so because she's beautiful and a dancer but also has a wicked speed habit (and access to the best drugs in the city). I adore her, she's lovely and the only person who doesn't yell at you if you call in sick. She's been at the bar for eight years but is leaving in a month for a managers job at another restaurant.

Mother Hen - The general bar manager. She's terrifying too and it took her a long time to warm up to me, but now that she has, she's amazing. She's everyone's mum but I've learnt after one too many 8am walks home to never go out drinking with her after work. She knows every single hospo worker in the city and has been in the industry for nearly twenty years. She has the best "don't fuck with me" face I have ever seen, I'm trying to learn it. Also married to our bouncer.

Lurch - The manager on Sundays and Mondays, he's huge. Easily over 6 foot, he's incredibly protective of the female staff, especially when we go out for post-work drinks and a lovely guy. He is, however, a nut job when he's drunk. One of the first things I learnt is that "when Lurch suggests a party back at his place, you go home."

Short Stuff - Another maitre d, he's shorter than me (I'm 5"4), Maori and hilariously funny with the filthiest mind I've ever come across. He gives everyone nicknames when they start, I'm Roaring Meg Mount Difficulty (named after a wine) because I never roar at anyone. He's one of my favourite staff members, though he works day shifts so leaves fairly early every night.

A - The bouncer. Married to Mother Hen, but far more chatty and relaxed. They've been together for years and are the sweetest couple I've ever seen. He's a personal trainer during the day and is hilariously funny. Drinks a lot of coffee but very little booze and tends to go on strange diets where anything white is banned.

Superman - Built like a tank, he owns a construction business and goes to university during the day, he only works as a maitre d on Sunday and Monday nights and nights like New Years Eve. He's severely ADHD and only sleeps about four hours a night. He's harsh, he made me cry once, but he knows his stuff and he's funny. We have a love/hate relationship.

Honeybee - My favourite waitress. She started two weeks before I did and we work mostly the same shifts. She's training to be an air hostess and working at the bar at nights for the hospo experience. She's stunningly beautiful and a lot of fun. We sing together when it's boring.

Frenchie - Obviously, she's French. She's a waitress/bartender but her true calling is photography. Unlike most of her fellow French hospo workers, she sees this as simply a job that's good for travelling with, she doesn't care too much about service (which is much more fun than caring a lot). I went in for dinner once, asked her what the soup was and she replied "I don't fucking know, but there's probably no love in it."

Mary-Jane - Our newest waitress, she's a lovely girl (and gorgeous) but working with her drives me mad. She's sometimes lazy and tends to do stupid things like getting high on her break and not being able to work. However, she is great for a post-work drink.

Kilt - The newest bartender, she's beautiful and Scottish and hilarious. She dances behind the bar and is great for a laugh. I don't know her well enough yet to say more.

Cookie - The glassie, sometime bartender and my old flatmate, he's also one of my best friends from before we worked together. Tall, swishy and fabulous he's the only gay in the village (at the moment, anyway). Mario thinks we're like Will and Grace, he's not wrong.

And last but not least,
The Boy - As well as my lover, he's a bartender; he's been at the bar off and on for six years (it was his first job out of high school). He's also our resident pot-head, always good for a meeting in the kitchen after work and wonderful at his job. The first person ever to make me break my rule of not screwing the crew, it works fine because he's incredibly chilled and makes the best hazelnut margaritas. Plus, he puts extra booze in my drinks, that always helps.

Sunday 29 May 2011

Don't Ever Touch Your Waitress

So I started thinking about this the other night at work. I was serving a table outside and a girl accidentally brushed my boob. She apologized profusely, I wasn't upset in the least but a flippant comment, "It's fine, honey. If you were male and 50 I would mind" made me think. Now I have customers and I don't mind if they touch my arm, or my shoulder, hell I have regulars who I kiss on the cheek and hug. But there is a line, and it's not always the men who cross it.

A few months ago I was serving a table when the woman reached over and tugged my skirt down. Now my skirts are short, but not appallingly so (mid-thigh and I always wear tights underneath). I have never had a staff member or a customer complain about how I'm dressed, quite the contrary I tend to get lots of compliments on my shoes or my dress or what-have-you (we don't have a uniform at my bar). So you can imagine my shock and surprise when this complete stranger felt it was necessary and okay for her to adjust my clothes. I don't think I said anything, but I'm fairly certain I gave her a look. To my memory, they tipped pretty well too, maybe she felt bad. I think it was more the shock that there was a woman touching me, men I can deal with much better.

And that brings me on to my next point. Men, it is never, NEVER okay to touch your waitress, or your waiter for that matter, unless you know them and it's comfortable for both parties. The other night, my boss was sitting outside with two other men, having a drink and shooting the shit and what-not. I get on pretty well with Chief (that's what we'll call my boss) so when I went out to offer them another round we were chatting. One of his friends touched my arm. Now there is such thing as an innocent arm touch and there is such thing as a not so innocent arm touch (you go by the way they've been talking to you), this was the second kind. Chief's pretty protective of the female staff as well, so he slapped his friends hand away and joked "touching costs extra." We laughed and I went to serve the next table. A little while (and a few more drinks) later, I went back to Chief's table when I noticed they were getting low. While I was getting the drink order, Chief's friend exclaimed, "You've got a red bra on!" (the side of my top had slipped down under my arm) and went to touch my chest. Now this is not on from any customer so I slapped his hand away myself and reminded him that touching costs and he now owed me at least $100. Chief backed me up on this, and tried to push it up to $150. When the guy complained, Chief responded with, "Hey, I pay her at least that much and I don't get to touch anything!" The guy didn't have much cash on him, but I got him to sign my docket pad with an IOU for at least $100 and a few drinks, Chief signed as a witness and the guy tipped me $20 when he left.

So the moral of the story? Well there's several. Waitresses are not strippers, but everything has its price; a smile smoothes over everything; and if you're a boss and you have your staff's backs, they may just give you a cut of the money they make off very drunk men.

Tuesday 24 May 2011

One From The Records

Okay so before I waitressed at the Restaurant I spent six months as a waitress in a well-known strip club in my city. Don't judge, I was young and I needed the money. Anyway, I saw some of the most amazing, underhanded, dirty practices while I was there but generally the girls (most of them anyway) were cool and I made really good money. Also, there was one fight I saw there that stuck in my mind, purely because of how epic it was.

It was a tuesday night. This automatically made the night suck, it was a tuesday and I was going to be working til 6 in the morning. It was also raining and in the middle of winter. No one goes to strip clubs on a tuesday in the middle of winter; it's just not sensible. Anyway, out of maybe the ten customers we had, three are the antagonists in this tale. I'd been talking to one of the girls in the bathroom, she was a stripper from Melbourne with awesome, studded heels. I was making the rounds and offered drinks, they ordered a glass of red wine, a vodka cranberry and a Tui (possibly the worst beer known to man). Right as I was getting their order, a gentleman standing at the bar gestured a little too wildly and knocked several glasses from their spot hanging above the bar into the ice sink. I'd been waiting for someone to do that for months. Anyway, it was taking a while to get their drinks because A, the only bartender on, had to completely empty, clean and refill the ice bin. Shoes Stripper actually came up to me while I was waiting for the drinks (we had stupid systems at this bar) and asked me where their drinks were because they were "really thiiiiiiiirsty", with that little girl whine and everything. That was about when I wrote this girl off as a bitch. Either way, I got their drinks, put them on my tray and started walking through the (mostly empty) bar to Shoe Stripper, who was sitting at the rail thing next to the stage.

Right as I got to her, her friend stood up in front of me, knocking my tray and spilling all the drinks down my front. I got a mumbled "oh, sorry" and stalked back to the bar to change my shirt and get them new drinks. As I was making my way back, I saw the best thing I've ever seen in a strip club. There was a girl on stage called Christina (I don't know her real name). She was gorgeous, blonde, curvy and hilariously funny. She was up there, doing her thing, and Shoe Stripper sitting by the stage loudly commented on her weight, I think her exact words were "Oh my god, that blonde skank's huge! No wonder they don't make any money here." With that, Christina turned around (she'd had a bit to drink out of boredom) yelled "I'm not fucking fat, you stupid fucking slut!," punched Shoe Stripper square in the face then dove off the stage, knocking Shoe Stripper off her stool and onto the floor, where they started wrestling. It was a full on cat fight, complete with screaming and scratching and hair pulling and everything.

We (the other waitresses, myself, and my friend T) were all standing near the bar in awe while this was going down, until something clicked and we all started yelling and cheering Christina on. It didn't take too long before the bouncers came in, one picked up Christina and carried her into the changing room while the other one picked up Shoe Stripper and took her outside, her friends following meekly behind. And what did us waitresses do? Well we did what I'd do for any girl after a fight, we picked up all Christina's hair extensions that Shoe Stripper had ripped out and followed her into the changing room with them. A girl can't leave her hair lying all over the floor of a strip club, you know.

Sunday 15 May 2011

The Stupidest Question I Have Ever Heard

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I took a weekend off to go camping (which was wonderful; it had everything camping needs to be good; tents, cows, excessive consumption of alcohol, nudity, upside-down tequila  shots...). Anyway, I'm back now and a stupid question last night made me remember this one.

It was last Valentine's Day which happened to fall on a Monday. We were completely booked and I was recently single and therefore bitter. We had lots of couples, as one would assume, but one particular twosome stands out. They were sitting at table ten later on in the evening (around 9ish). She was drinking Cosmopolitans, he'd been on beer. I went over to ask if they wanted another drink. She ordered another Cosmo (not without looking at him first to check she was allowed another drink. I hate when couples do that, if you want another drink then fucking well have one). He turned to me and asked "what vodkas do you guys have here?" I rattled off the list, house pour is 42below, we have all the flavours as well. We also carry the Absolut and Finlandia ranges as well as Imperia and Zubrowka. He considered for a moment and asked what whiskies we had. I got him a list, as the whiskies are extensive and I can't be arsed memorizing them. He settled on a 15-year-old Glenfiddich. My query as to how he wanted it was met with a black stare. "I mean, would you like it neat or on ice?" I clarified. And that was when it happened, the stupidest question that I have ever heard. "What kind of ice have you guys got here?". The realization hit him instantly, it showed in his face, much as I imagine my incredulity showed in mine. So I gave him the only answer I could think of, other than laughing;
"The kind that comes frozen and vaguely square-shaped."

Sunday 1 May 2011

Just A Quick One

A few Saturdays ago there were three very drunk, decidedly middle-aged suits sitting up at the bar. One of them stopped me as I was walking past and slurred "I have to ask you, honey. Do you work here cause you like older men or do you just work here?" (Imagine that being said by a forty-something year old who reeked of whiskey). Now generally I am nice; I brush off lascivious old men with a polite but firm comment, unlike a lot of other female bar-staff who have the "Eat shit and die" look down pat. I've been begging them to teach me. But that night, without even thinking about it, I turned around to face the guy, gave him a look that would turn Medusa to stone and replied in my best withering voice, "I just work here", before continuing on my path to the staff table.
The punchline? The guy and his friends were so abashed that they tipped me $50 and I never even served them. Guess my fuck off face isn't too bad after all.