What's Left Behind

                It’s your typical Sunday morning and it’s time to rise and shine. Today will be a good day; I don’t care what anyone else has to say or do it’s all about me and my positive at-ti-tude. So, I get up, I feed the four-year-old before I leave the house, empty out the dishwasher, wake up the hubby, and off I go for my adventurous day! Oh, a flat tire; look at that.  It’s okay though because my work is only like a half a mile more up the road; here we go. Hiking I went.

                I get to work and the boss asks why I am so sweaty, I tell him he doesn’t really want to know. We laugh, he asked why I was late; my response? “It’s why I’m so sweaty,” he gave me a look of disgust and I pointed to my car. He had a nice laugh.

                Table flow is good. Everyone is happy so far. “Paige we have a 7, you want it?”  the host asks. “Of course I do,” I replied with gumption. More people means higher check amount, means bigger tip.

                These people are so sweet and kind. Laughing with each other; the two kids don’t even have their electronics out, and the one boy was sitting on the old man’s lap listening to a story about his childhood, “… we followed the train tracks. The went up North Maine by your favorite grocery store and down past the school as far as Monsanto.” Listening to this and watching the little boy be so intrigued was very enticing and uplifting to see.

                After these kind folks ate, I sent their check along to them and they went to pay. They helped pack up and the older gentleman and they had to take him home. He was too old to drive himself. I went up front to cash them out. They left a $30.00 tip on a $150.00 ticket. That is amazing. Actual 20% tip from a table of 7 people. After sending these remarkable people on their way, I found what was left at the table. Some things one would rather not find and wish that customers would not lose.

                 Picking up gross, stuck-to-paper pancakes; prechewed dinno-chicken-nuggets; macaroni and cheese off the carpet; one would think nothing could be worse. This table who had brought out the old man who couldn’t drive, let him leave his teeth behind. That’s right guys, dentures. A pair of dentures. Ya know, most things left are things like: children’s toys, bottles, binky’s, reading glasses, rings, but no one prepares you for the teeth. The gums are pink where the glue should have been and probably was but has somehow lifted off because of the saliva from the old man’s mouth.  Left, on a napkin, perfectly formed to fit this poor old man’s gums. You’re probably thinking: what did you do with the dentures? I hope you threw them away!

                The answer is no. Sorry to disappoint everyone; I would not want to make that old man pay another $200.00 (or more) for a pair or set of dentures. Being kind and putting them in the safe is not difficult when I remember all the Late-night shifts I’ve worked in my life. Cleaning up after the drunks and having to literally sweep/wipe/mop up their vomit, urine, or poop off the stalls. If dentures are the least of my worries on a day shift. I am so pleased.

https://www.google.com/search?q=dentures&biw=1188&bih=566&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi73tDQobPPAhXBeD4KHfxvALYQ_AUIBigB#imgrc=7BZbllglZ_WJUM%3A

Swap Meet Sunday's

I’m late. Shit, was up studding for that stupid test, writing the finishing touches to that one paper, needed a shower, and food. Hell. I’m up and out the door 5 minutes tops. Call work. Tell them I’m late as usual, and get there in a jiffy. Oh, no. No. No. No. I can smell it from miles away. Cow and horse manure, chicken coops, I pull in the parking lot; in slow motion I see the trailers with chicken coops, horses, and cows on the back; I smell the terrible fesses all over, I have a splitting headache knowing what I am about to walk into.

“There’s a 20 minute wait, ma’am,” I hear Katie the host say as I walk in the door at 7:00am. Starving and tired I run to the server lane to help catch up in the food window. “Danielle! Hope! Tyler! You’re up!” Now the decision to run the tray that came out first. Everything is dirty, chaotic, and servers are almost in tears from being so overwhelmed. A person can only move so fast and smell so much mud, body odder, and bad breath.

Servers are frantic, customers are angry, and the boss is only one person and can only be in so many places at once. It’s a cycle really, a few cycles actually: customers come in, servers become overwhelmed (because there are not always enough for anticipated business), customers get mad, then there are other guests waiting by the door and see these customers walk out, and they leave too. Then the next cycle of impatient people starts: customer is waiting 20 minutes for a table, server is already ambushed by people at tables and is getting breathed at because these people just sat down and are peeved because they are hungry. As a server you want to scream, “DO YOU SEE WHAT I AM DOING?!?!” Instead what comes out of your mouth at this angry table is, “Hi, guys sorry about your wait I’m sure you’re starving by now, but let’s start with something to drink first, shall we?” With the fakest, put on smile anyone could ever imagine; what’s great and terrible about server life is the ability to be fake.

 It’s great because if you’re actually a good server, the motto is, “Leave your personal stuff at the door, it’ll be there when you leave with an extra $100, or keep it on you; your stress will fill your pocket too, when you leave with $10.” Heard this every day for two years. As we all know it’s impossible to leave our personal lives at the door. There is no way! Especially if there are children involved. It’s a hard not life. While the money we know isn’t going to be the best and we are going to work our tails off for less than what we deserve, we still do it for that buck’fidy.

Table turn times are great, though. People only sit there for about 20 minutes, no squatters, and everything is bamb BamB BAMB; speedy fast. However, that table of ten people who attended swap meet Sunday and just bought a lot of chickens or traded horses or cattle or whatever, now have no money. So they leave $.50 a person (sometimes) sometimes less. $5.00 on a $100.00 plus ticket, is never okay even if the service sucked; we are human too guys. We have lives and unexpected things happen all the time.

In small rural communities we still trade and barter. It’s kind of like a miniature flea market or gathering of the redneck kind where I reside. People gather starting at 4:00am at the local fair grounds with their horses, chickens, guns, hunting dogs, the list goes on of things traded so it’s not traditional enough to be considered a flea market I suppose but definitely similar in how it’s ran.  These people come from everywhere to see what others have. Trading is really cool to watch, until it’s making mud prints on your chairs, poles of your tables that you now have to lay on your back to scrub once everyone has gone; swap meet Sunday’s are not for the thin skinned. 

The Privileged

We have all been eating at a restaurant where there is a parent with a child that just won’t cooperate. As a server of that child, it is my duty to make sure everyone is happy; including the parent and screaming child. While I understand the annoyance to some, I also see this as my time to shine. Working at a family restaurant I believe it is my job to see to it that I treat my customers like family. What I would do at home with these situations, is what I do at work.

I waited on a very kind hearted woman and her child. She ordered her coffee, the baby’s milk, an English muffin for her, and she ordered pancakes for her daughter. I bring them their drinks and as the mother takes a sip of her coffee, looking terribly exhausted, the baby begins to cry. The mother tries everything but it’s just not working today. Tears flow from this woman’s eyes like an ocean’s waves in a storm.

https://www.bing.com/images/search?q=babys%20crying%20at%20restaurnts%20&qs=n&form=QBIR&pq=babys%20crying%20at%20restaurnts%20&sc=0-19&sp=-1&sk=

The entire restaurant was staring in disgust. I heard another customer complaining to another server about the rudeness of the woman who was just letting her child be a menace to everyone else, she was trying to enjoy her lunch.

I approached the woman with the baby and sat down. It’s a family restaurant after all. Before I could ask her if she was okay, she said, “I just wanted to drink my coffee this morning. That’s all.” Trying to hold back tears. She couldn’t even drink her coffee because she was crying so hard. So I did what anyone would do, and started playing with the baby. We have partitions at my store, and they are glass so you can play peek-a-boo very well there. We played for a while, while the mother calmed down. The baby’s laughter filled the restaurant.

Now, the title of this article is “The Privileged”. I want to explain something to those who go to restaurants to eat: we are all eating at the same place. Where that woman is trying to eat with her daughter, you are trying to eat as well. Maybe you’re a chomper who doesn’t chew with their mouth closed. You might possibly annoy someone with your laugh or even with your eating gestures. People may find you to be rude and interrupting their lunch. However, I must inform you, whoever told you that you have the right to judge another person based on their child’s behavior for that moment, you are wrong.

Please don’t go into a family restaurant and specifically ask to be sat away from “that screaming child” because I promise you, you were that screaming child once. Not only that, but I will also tell you, someone will find a way to make sure you are surrounded again by a screaming child. There are places to go where children are not allowed, but you shouldn’t expect any less at a family diner. I don’t know that I should call that edict or just having respect for others. If you are able to afford to eat at the same restaurant, have the same respect.

There is no such thing as “The Privileged” where I work. I, along with many other of my fellow coworkers, would make sure that you understood that. We are all equal and will be treated as such.   

https://www.bing.com/images/search?q=the+mean+girls+faces+(all+3)+&view=detailv2&&id=E6866C0A6F6BD1D5CE4D7EFD5525FE26CA2F0D7D&selectedIndex=0&ccid=%2f11tHS53&simid=608008181598257385&thid=OIP.Mff5d6d1d2e777726dc0a3b8dfdd5983co0&ajaxhist=0

Ranch, a Side Dish with Every Midwest Meal

The Midwest Dipping Sauce: Ranch

Ok. So today doesn’t start out to bad. It’s about 6:30pm, and it’s time for the evening rush.  Thankfully I already have a full section. That means I can’t get sat anymore until one leaves. Yes, breathing time—or not. Table 15 needs their check, table 14 needs refills, table 12 needs their food I should check the window. Walking to the window I still see table 13 that needs napkins and I’m sure they’ll ask for their check so let’s print that out while I have a second.

So now I’m carrying out table 12’s food with table 15 and 13’s checks in my book, napkins in right hand for table 13, and a follower with a drink tray for table 14 behind me; oh man I forgot about table 16. I should go check on them after I drop this other stuff off.

“Can I get you some more ranch?”

“Why sure thanks. Can we get a… 3 water refills, a stack of napkins and a to-go box?” Replies the kind guest. 

“Sure I’ll be right back,” I say with gumption.

Ok. So now table 15 and 13 are leaving so I need to go bus those so I can have a new table because, like in any job, this is about making money. The more tables, the more money you make. I can’t forget the ranch.

I run to bus the tables and on my way back from the dish station I grab the pitcher of water, napkins, and the to-go box. 

“Here we are folks,” I say with a cheeky smile and hand them their things. I run off to my new table to greet them with a smile.

About 10 minutes go buy, and I’ve checked on all my tables. Table 16 is ready for their bill. I hand it over and bam, another dirty table to clean so I can make that money.

It’s about 10:00 and I’m walking out the door. Purse in hand, keys, phone, and apron so I can hop in my Chevy and take off for the evening. As I am opening my car door and ready to crank my radio, I realize I forgot to clock out. Running back in the restaurant, tripping over the carpet in front of the doors with the big red and yellow “Denny’s” logo on it, I realize, “I FORGOT THE RANCH!” I can’t believe it. I am so mad at myself. I feel terrible. If I were them I would have taken off 2 dollars from the tip. Table 16 left me $6.00 though so everything else must have been alright.  It happens more often than not. We forget things when we are tied up and busy. Sometimes customers forget we are human and we make mistakes too. Luckily for me that day, the customer was very understanding.

I wanted to write this post because I found a hilarious MEME on “the book” aka: facebook, and it is one of the best memes I ever saw in my life. It’s the equivalent of what I wrote above but way more funny. I’ll post it below.

Have you ever been forgotten at a restaurant and taken it personally? Or have you been the lucky staff member that forgot the poor guys ranch?

https://www.facebook.com/ashley.conkey.39/posts/1720408771529328

WHAT CAN WE, DO FOR YOU?

    Coming in at 7am, still tired and sluggish. Hearing the chatter of all the golfers, the men’s church group on smoking side, your host calling out names; going behind the server aisle to clock-in, knowing that it’s about to go down. You briskly walk to your first table because you don’t want to look rushed. “Good morning! How we all doin’?” You say with as much enthusiasm as possible. Waiting for a response but nothing. The guests have been sitting there “patiently” waiting and are now angry that they waited an extra 3 minutes after waiting 15 to get a table.

“Alright. How ‘bout some coke? Maybe some coffee?” You say, still smiling but it’s starting to pull from the corners of your mouth. You can feel the fakeness about to make an appearance.

“Water. Water for the table,” says the angry guest with a bowing at his brow.

“Sounds great! I’ll get right on that!” You say with extreme distaste in your mouth.  Turning around quickly to walk away from that impatient asshole. Thinking to yourself: if I could quit, today would be the day.

You take the waters back and accidently spill one; not on the guest but he still throws a tantrum and gives ya “are you serious?” look. With a smile you say, “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. Did I splash you?”

“Well no,” he says; kind of angry ya didn’t.

“Okay then. I’ll go grab another water for you guys after I get your food in. I’m sure we’re all hungry.”

“Only been waitin’ a half an hour, but no were fine.” He said with an over-exaggerate sarcastic tone out of this world. You have to remind yourself there are bills to pay, he will tip you, and he will pay for gas in your car.

Customer service is key. The fake faces, smiles, laughs a server gives is to make money to pay for milk, food, water for showers, gas in their car; you get the point. But no one thinks about the servers’ feelings. You think we don’t see you’ve been standing there for a very long time? Smelling all that luscious food, stomach churning at the sight of someone else eating? Getting the food butterflies because you’re so hungry? I have the inside scoop. We do. I know that feeling all too well. Serving ungrateful people and watching them shovel food in their faces like they’re never going to eat again, while I’m back here trying not to cry because of a guest’s hangry attitude is what I know best.

My name is Paige Russell. I am 23 years old. I am a full-time college student, full-time step parent, full-time significant other and part time server. I want to tell you about my experiences as a server and see how you feel. Maybe you’ve been in my shoes before, maybe you’ve been the nice guest to see the mean one, or (hopefully not) maybe you’ve been the mean one. I can’t wait to hear about your own personal experiences as I continue to share mine.