tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62552811841528102082024-02-18T22:04:27.927-05:00good things come to those who waitnotes about hospitality from my side of the apronVanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-6891390364284528022010-05-20T00:52:00.000-04:002010-05-20T00:52:01.743-04:00Pop Quiz Revisited<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, so I wasn't exactly fair when I wrote out my <a href="http://tothosewhowait.blogspot.com/2010/05/pop-quiz.html">dining out quiz</a>. There was just one answer for the first fifteen questions: none of the above, an option I didn't give you. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was just checking to see if you were paying attention.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The questions and answers I provided, though, don't come without explanation. All the answers were based on actual experiences, as you might have inferred. So let me break it down for you, a few questions at a time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>1. You walk into a restaurant, wanting to sit at a table. Right away, you should:</i></span></span></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>a. breeze right past the host stand, the host, and the sign that says, "Please wait to be seated."</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>b. reply with a brusque "Two!" when the host greets you with a warm "Welcome!"</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>c. not say anything at all-- just hold up the number of fingers to indicate how many people are in your party.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm always a little stunned to see customers walk straight into the restaurant and attempt to seat themselves. While there are plenty of restaurants in the world that do have customers choose their own tables, the base assumption should be that someone will seat you-- particularly when there is a sign and a table, podium, or stand that is placed right inside the door. It's best to assume that someone will seat you and to ask if you aren't sure. And saying "hello" back to someone who greets you is just basic socialization stuff, as is using your words and not your fingers and grunts. Right boys and girls? </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You caught me at a condescending moment. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>2. Upon being greeted by your server, it is customary to:</i></span></span></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>a. stare blankly at her and not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>b. continue to look down at your menu and not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>c. glance over at the server, turn away, and then start a conversation with your dining companion-- in other words, not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You remember that condescending thing I said a minute ago about basic socialization? Well, you'd be astounded by the number of people who do not return a greeting from a server. It's the most basic human interaction in our culture, yet the inability of a diner to acknowledge a server's presence is rampant. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rampant, I tell ya.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>3. When your server asks if you'd like to start with a glass of tap water, you should:</i></span></span></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>a. stare blankly at her and not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>b. continue to look down at your menu and not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>c. glance over at the server, turn away, and then start a conversation with your dining companion-- in other words, not respond.</i></span></span></blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where I work, our standard question after greeting a table (whether or not they are responsive), is, "Would you like me to bring you tap water?" We servers joke about how this is the world's hardest question to answer because of the frequency with which people stare back at us, gape-mouthed and unable to speak; they drop their heads down to their menus to avert our eyes, we are left to assume that we've asked too much of our customers. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes, a dialogue ensues between diners wherein they have an extremely detailed, drawn out discussion over whether or not they want tap water. It's as if the decision to accept tap water is the most important decision they've ever been faced with. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we haven't even factored in bottled water yet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More answers to come.</span></div>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-58866895034794248512010-05-18T16:45:00.000-04:002012-10-21T15:52:49.275-04:00Pop Quiz<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's time to sharpen your number twos and test your knowledge of the restaurant experience-- from your side of the apron! There's no time limit and it's open-book; feel free to consult your notes and neighbors (or favorite server). An answer key will follow in upcoming posts.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good luck!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Diner's IQ Test</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. You walk into a restaurant, wanting to sit at a table. Right away, you should:</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. breeze right past the host stand, the host, and the sign that says, "Please wait to be seated."</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. reply with a brusque "Two!" when the host greets you with a warm "Welcome!"</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. not say anything at all-- just hold up the number of fingers to indicate how many people are in your party.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Upon being greeted by your server, it is customary to:</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. stare blankly at her and not respond.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. continue to look down at your menu and not respond.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. glance over at the server, turn away, and then start a conversation with your dining companion-- in other words, not respond.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. When your server asks if you'd like to start with a glass of tap water, you should:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. stare blankly at her and not respond.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. continue to look down at your menu and not respond.</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. glance over at the server, turn away, and then start a conversation with your dining companion-- in other words, not respond.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. You madly flag down your server and emphatically say, "We are ready to order!" The next thing you should do is:</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. pick up the menu at that moment and begin to peruse it.</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. say to your dining companion "I guess we should look at the menu. Are you going to get a starter? I can't decide between the chicken and the pasta."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. ask your server "What should I order?"</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. When you ask your server for recommendations on the menu, you should respond to her answers by:</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. making a face and saying "I hate <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">brussels</span> sprouts/ celery/ pineapple/ hot food/ cold food/ food that requires a spoon/ whatever it is you're going to suggest."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. making a face and saying "I don't eat meat."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. making a face and saying "I'm allergic to dairy."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">d. making a face and saying "That sounds fattening."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">e. making a face and saying "<span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">Ew</span>! Who eats octopus? That's disgusting!"</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">f. making a face and saying "I don't eat <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">carbs</span>."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">g. making a face and saying "I had fish at lunch."</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6. A server approaches your table with searing hot plates burning blisters into her fingertips, and you have your <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">iPad</span>/sunglasses/magazine/forearms resting in front of you where those plates should go. This provides the perfect opportunity to:</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. stare blankly at the server and not respond when she says, "Excuse me. May I set this down?"</span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. say "Right here!" and point at the space in front of you as to suggest that is where the plate should go, except that what you're <i>really</i> suggesting is that you want your pizza on top of your Kindle because you haven't made any effort to move it.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. lean further across the table, thereby completely blocking the server's access to the space in front of you, as you continue to tell the person sitting across from you whatever story is so captivating that you can't move yourself out of the way for two seconds, which is twice as long as it actually takes to put down that plate.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7. Your server is approaching your table of six with both hands and arms filled to capacity with plates. Before she can even unload the first two dishes on the table, you say:</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. "Where's my side of spinach?"</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. (gesturing to someone across the table) "He ordered the pasta."</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. "Can I get some salt/ ketchup/ hot sauce/ more water/ a Coke?"</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8. The best thing to do as a server is attempting to refill your water glass is:</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. grip your glass tightly with both hands and clutch it to your chest.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. immediately lift the glass to your lips but take your time drinking one sip.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. push the glass toward the server as she is pouring thereby creating a moving target.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">d. cover the glass with your hands not in a gesture of declining more water but as a gesture that you don't understand that your server can't pour water through your hands.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">9. If allergic or averse to certain foods, it is advisable to:</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. absolutely not tell the server that eating nuts could kill you until the dessert with the pistachios sprinkled on top shows up at your table. </span></blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. not predict that in a Mexican restaurant you might encounter cilantro or that in an Italian restaurant you might see <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">parmesan</span> cheese on your dish, and then not let the waiter know that you hate cilantro and <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">parmesan</span> cheese. </span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. not bother to ask what "<span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">pancetta</span>" is, even though it's written in the description of the pasta dish you just ordered, and, being that you're vegetarian, express that the server "should have told" you there was meat in the dish even though the server had no idea you are a vegetarian.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10. When you are finished, always:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. stack your dishes.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. put your napkin on top of the pile of plates.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. hand your plates to the server, then hand her your utensils, so that she has to grab the blade of your knife or the tines of that fork you've been eating with.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">d. move the plates and utensils around on the table as she's trying to pick them up.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11. If you find hat you have left your table in disarray, you should:</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. use your hand to brush off the table so that now the floor is all covered with bread crumbs, stray pieces of pasta, and the chunk of tomato that fell off your plate.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. use that napkin that you've been wiping your filthy, germ-ridden mouth with to brush off the table so that now the floor is all covered with bread crumbs, stray pieces of pasta, and the chunk of tomato that fell off your plate.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. lean with your forearms on the table when the server comes by with a table <span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial;">crumber</span> to wipe your table, and when she says "Pardon me" as she tries to maneuver around the upper half of your body, don't budge.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">12. If you are dining with a young child, of, say, highchair age, it is best to:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. most definitely not acknowledge or apologize for the fact that you've left behind a 2-foot radius of food detritus around the highchair.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. use the dining room as a playground, allowing your child to run up and down the aisles while the servers, juggling plates of food and balancing trays of drinks, dodge your toddler.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. absolutely, under no circumstances, take your howling, screeching baby out of the earshot of every other diner (and staff person) in the restaurant.</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">13. You should always:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. ask for another fork, plate, or napkin and then not use it.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. ask for more water when your glass is still full but ask in that way that makes it sound like your server has been neglecting you.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. ask for a refill of coffee or another glass of wine by pointing at your cup or glass, preferably with a grunt for emphasis.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">14. If you are in a rush to make it to a movie, the best time to tell the server is when:</span><br />
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. you have exactly 45 seconds to ask for the check, pay, and leave.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. while you are impatiently waiting for your second course, which your server timed to come out after your first course because you ordered two courses, not one.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. after you've ordered the thing on the menu that takes the longest to make, not that you would know how long it would take, though you <i>did</i> know that you needed to be somewhere.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">15. When the check comes:</span></div>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. hide the credit card or cash under the check or in the check presenter so that the server cannot tell if your payment is ready, and then become increasingly impatient when no one comes to take your payment.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. take both copies of the credit card receipt with you, so that if you've left a tip on the credit card, the server has no idea what it is and cannot enter that amount into the computer system, thereby losing the tip altogether.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">c. try to pay with an American Express card but then find out that the restaurant doesn't take American Express, and then get angry at the server, and then leave her no tip because you think the restaurant should take American Express, and utterly fail to realize that the server doesn't make those decisions and would take your stupid American Express card if she could.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">16. Servers notice and truly appreciate when customers say "please" and "thank you."</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a. true</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">b. false</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Congratulations! You've made it to the end! Stay tuned for the answers in upcoming posts.</span><br />
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Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-52877352201489136312010-05-15T09:17:00.001-04:002010-05-15T10:13:42.736-04:00Friday Night Phone Call<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kitchen at the restaurant where I work is small and can only do orders take-out pizza if the cooks aren't already overtaxed by orders from diners sitting in the restaurant. So when people call to see if they can get pizza to go, we have to double check with the kitchen to see if they can take the order. We try not to say no, but for the good of the diners, sometimes we must.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is all to set up the following phone call. Mind you, I can set it up, but I cannot explain it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I happened to answer the phone during a busy spell. The man calling wanted one pizza to go, so I told him I'd check with the kitchen.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I came back with the verdict. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm sorry. I'm afraid the kitchen can't accommodate any to-go orders right now. But thank you for calling</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, I said.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I'll come pick it up, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he responded.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, no. The kitchen can't do </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">any</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> pick up orders right now, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I repeated.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I get a pizza to go?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> he persisted.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I began to wonder what I was saying wrong. </span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No. We try not to say "no" to take-out orders, but right now we are quite busy and can only make pizza for people sitting in the restaurant and dining. There are no pizzas to go right now. None.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used my most amiably authoritative voice.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then he delivered the punchline:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, then can I get </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">two</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> pizzas?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was the punchline, but he wasn't joking around.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You'll be most impressed by the fact that I did not hang up on the caller nor call him a moron. Though both were tempting.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remind me not to answer the phone anymore.</span></div>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-50132384590600927842010-05-11T17:41:00.001-04:002010-05-11T23:39:31.993-04:00Thrown<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my job, I do a lot of explaining about the food and beverage we serve. I'm used to talking about nebbiolo and how it can often exhibit notes of tobacco and violets. I describe amaro-- what it is and the spectrum it runs from floral and citrusy to foresty and menthol. I distinguish mild provolone dolce from its sharper and more pungent cousin, provolone piccante. I talk about flavors and textures, nuance and subtlety. I use flowery words like "bright" and "robust" and "velvety" and "aromatic" and "briny" and "lush." </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A lot of the time, "delicious" does the trick.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm so used to giving more detailed descriptions about less familiar items that once in a while, I get completely thrown by the simplest of questions.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For example, the other night, a woman waiting for a table wanted to order a drink.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you have like a sparkling water, or a club soda?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> she asked.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have both</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, I said. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, what does club soda taste like?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> she asked. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a while.</span></i><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Was that a trick question?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I wondered.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I know not all water tastes the same. I rarely drink bottled water, but when I do, I make sure it isn't Evian because it tastes like swimming pool water to me-- bleachy and kind of slimy in texture. And it is common knowledge that not all tap waters are created equal.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are plenty of foods that I totally take for granted that are incorporated into my palate but that I don't expect other people to necessarily be familiar with. I totally understand when people ask what lovage tastes like. Or dandelion greens. Or hell, even parmesan cheese. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">club soda</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">? Who doesn't know what club soda tastes like? And can't you just sort of take a stab at what it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">might</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> taste like? Is trying to imagine its taste that far beyond one's ability to conjure? And she alluded to having had club soda at some point in her past, so it's not like she'd never even had club soda before. Did she think I was talking about something else altogether?</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is it strange that I thought that question was strange? </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's very refreshing</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, I started. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has big, lively bubbles.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Big, lively bubbles? I think I might have rolled my eyes at myself for coming up with that.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wasn't sure what else to say. But my answer was enough for her to order one. And it was lucky for me that she didn't ask me to elaborate because I really don't know that I could have. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But next time I get asked that question, at least I'll be ready.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-19953385965684395012010-05-05T23:39:00.000-04:002016-05-05T10:34:25.894-04:00Career Girl<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A new server recently started training at the restaurant. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After work the other night, we were chatting as we got dressed to go home. I knew very little of her, except where she last worked. And in the course of working a shift with her, I learned that she is sharp and has a take-charge attitude that can come in handy working in a busy, high-volume restaurant like the one I work in.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She mentioned something in the way-past tense about an old boyfriend, and I asked her if she's seeing anyone now. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, she said. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm focusing on my career</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, she added with a bit of a grin. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew she was talking more about not having a boyfriend and less about the career part. But I asked anyway.</span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What's your career? Waiting tables?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She practically snorted her response. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This? Yeah. Like this would be my career!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The disdain was unmistakable, punctuated by the rolling of her eyes.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It turns out that by "career" she meant that she is an actor, which, in this town, never comes as a surprise to me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What does continue to throw me off guard, though, is the way so many servers seem to despise their jobs. I mean, yes, we're in a position of service. Yes, we are sometimes treated like the lowly help. Yes, we are constantly touching half-eaten plates of food and forks that have been in peoples' mouths. Yes, we have an inconsistent income. Yes, we witness customers being mannerless, socially inept, and downright rude at times. Yes, we deal with a lot of resentment from our underpaid, overworked kitchen counterparts. No, we don't generally have company retirement plans, health care, sick days, vacation days, or profit-sharing opportunities.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But what job is without its drawbacks? Waiting tables is, overall, a great gig. The other night, Dave and Ellie, a couple of great regulars, were sitting at the bar. Dave asked me a version of a question I get asked often: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, are you hoping to own a restaurant one day?</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The answer is so easy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">D</span>espite all the things that make waiting tables a questionable career choice for some, I have some compelling arguments in favor of it:</span></div>
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I never take my work home with me. I show up, work hard, go home. Done until the next shift.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My work is physical. I cannot imagine having to sit at a desk all day. I like expending energy.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I work around food. Good food.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My job is social but the interactions are fleeting. I get a clean slate every time someone new sits down.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I (usually) get paid well for what I do (<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I quickly admit that</span> is not the case for every server or bartender).</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My job is fast-paced and challenges me every day.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I learn a lot about food and wine, and sometimes the whole restaurant seems like it's one, big psycho-social experiment, which is its own kind of education.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have a flexible schedule. This means not only that I can take time off when I need it, but I can also pick up extra work when I need it.</span></li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The corollary to Dave's question that I often get asked is <i>What is it that you really do?</i> And when I reply, <i>You're lookin' at it!</i>, the person asking the question usually doesn't see that answer coming. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surely I wait tables to kill time until I become a published writer, get a degree, or land my big acting break, right? Because who would want to do this kind of work forever? I mean aside from the big-haired ladies in the pink, polyester uniforms who snap their gum and call you "hon"?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I would.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't get me wrong; if someone were to throw me a book deal (ahem), I wouldn't shy away from it. But serving good food and drink? It makes for a career worth focusing on.</span></div>
Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-32740924234057525682010-01-27T12:48:00.005-05:002010-01-27T22:48:31.994-05:00Poetic License<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-iIwWQsBgCZxYCN9rEhMYbUN4Jobrhk-E2AkI77FvgKSnAM1hKvKc1_Vj7HmA4BrjwOmbDljHXpGsqpB7BORFYHW22woYWMTVihFpzVJCHeXSm5NtWOY_TSY25wH7_IHOFwsnxoKaP0/s1600-h/IMG_0220.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-iIwWQsBgCZxYCN9rEhMYbUN4Jobrhk-E2AkI77FvgKSnAM1hKvKc1_Vj7HmA4BrjwOmbDljHXpGsqpB7BORFYHW22woYWMTVihFpzVJCHeXSm5NtWOY_TSY25wH7_IHOFwsnxoKaP0/s400/IMG_0220.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431478416164172402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">The announcement came as soon as I got to work yesterday.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Today is haiku day!</span> Jonathan, one of the cooks, said. <span style="font-style: italic;">We're writing haikus about each other.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Haikus do not make for a typical Tuesday at the pizza mines. But I was game.<br /><br />Julia had already gotten the poetic ball rolling with an ode to Jonathan and his pizza-making prowess:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">heart shaped pizza pie</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />white cloud of flour and smoke</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />you control the flame</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Service was off to a slow enough start that between mixing drinks and opening bottles of wine, I had time to jot down a few lines on the back of an old menu. My first attempt was for Julia, who had recently undergone Lasik eye surgery: </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Look into my eyes.</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />Hindsight is twenty twenty,</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />and now so are you.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I eked out a few for Danny, Chris, and Jonathan, using the floor staff as my messengers, shuttling scraps of paper from the bar to the kitchen. Those haikus were just as bad as the one for Julia, so I won't make you suffer through any more than necessary.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Soon, the servers were delivering poems to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> from the kitchen.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Julia's came first:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">coppa, pancetta,</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />the slicer softly whispers</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />sopressata, please</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />On a c-fold, Jonathan wrote one about my baking compulsion:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">She bakes all the time</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />for us. We love it so much.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />Butter. Flour. Love.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Chris's haiku was part nod to/order for one of the kitchen's preferred mid-shift refreshments:<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Mix, muddle & shake</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Do you use maraschinos?</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Four cherry Cokes please</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />It was followed a few moments later by this one:<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >No, seriously.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Thirst quenching is required</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Four cherry Cokes please</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Alright, alright. I can take a hint.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So I muddled some cherries with some cherry syrup and added some Coke and sent those drinks off to the kitchen with</span> a final haiku.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> Unfortunately,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I don't remember </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />what I wrote, but I know I<br />did write "Bottoms up!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Stay tuned for Sonnet Sundays.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-49710231926556195902010-01-05T01:24:00.006-05:002010-01-05T23:57:29.326-05:00Get a Room. Please.<span style="font-family:arial;">Dear Bar 8 and 9,<br /><br />If you ever manage to extract your tongues out of each other's ears, maybe you can then explain to me your ease at publicly sharing your moments of emotional and physical intimacy. I mean, you're in a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >restaurant</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, for Pete's sake. And I, your humble bartender, am trapped behind the bar, where I can do my best to avert my eyes, but really can only get so far away from you and your nuzzling, groping, and goofy gazes.<br /><br />Love, or lust, or hormonal surges-- whatever they are, they're all a part of being human. And they can be kinda nice. I get that. And more power to ya! But holy schmo. Wouldn't you rather play out your mating ritual at home? Or at least in a car parked in an alley-- where no one has to watch you?<br /><br />Think of how much more you'd be able to accomplish if you were actually able to, say, take your clothes off and not just feel each other up, à la junior high school. (I will thank you for actually being able to draw that line.) Given how free and open you are in public, what with all that tongue wrestling, I can only imagine how much more fun you could have in the privacy of your own home.<br /><br />Well, I </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >can</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> imagine, but I really don't want to. I've seen plenty already.<br /><br />I'm sorry that I didn't check in to ask you how your pizza was and that I didn't keep your water glasses filled; sometimes the best service is leaving people alone, especially if when it means not interrupting their foreplay.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> And if there's one thing I'm committed to doing as your bartender it's not interrupting your foreplay.<br /><br />But I hope the rest of your night went as well as it seemed to be going-- our pizza makes for good carbo-loading!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Sincerely,</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Your Bartender/Most Unwilling Voyeur</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-4033839854493392202009-08-12T22:07:00.002-04:002009-08-12T22:57:40.046-04:00Second Wind<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />I just realized it's been over a year now since I started this blog. Of late, I've really not been on the writing wagon. And the reason smacks of irony.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I wanted to write this blog to aim some positive light on a much-maligned profession. I wanted to focus on why I love my job, why I feel like I'm lucky to be doing the work that I do, how serving and bartending are not just worthy of a little respect by customers and non-waiters, but by servers themselves who often seem to not take their jobs seriously.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I wanted to write about the funny stuff that happens, the ways in which the table-waiting list of pros outweighs the list of cons, how I can't believe that more people don't embrace food service as a meaningful profession and career in our culture.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />What I very much <span style="font-style: italic;">didn't</span> want to do was to spew complaints and gripe about my work. I didn't want to rag on customers and highlight their foibles. I didn't want to sound like I was complaining all the time, which is what happens rampantly in waiter blogs. I didn't want to add to that mix.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />But I'm looking back at my posts, and I can see how I'm being seduced by the dark side. More recent (however infrequent) posts are cranky ones. There's little that I say that isn't grousing. <br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">And I swore I wouldn't go down that path. That path of using my blog as a way to be negative about the work I do. That path of crabbiness. The path of bad juju.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />But I'm having trouble focusing on what I set out to focus on, maybe because after eighteen years of doing this work, I'm feeling a tad burned out. Perhaps a<span style="font-style: italic;"> lot </span>burned out.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> It seems that when I'm at work and an idea for a blog entry strikes me, it's almost always because of something that falls under the heading of "whining/bellyaching"-- precisely what I was trying to avoid.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />So, finding myself conflicted, I just keep my mouth shut. Hence the long periods of no writing. In keeping with adage, I can't find anything nice to say so I'm not saying anything at all.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I've thought a lot about where to go from here. Give in to the dark side? Make things up? </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Scrap the blog? </span><span style="font-family: arial;">After a little introspection, this is what I've come up with: 1) try harder to find and reap the good stuff and 2) be really bitchy if I want to be.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Is that the obvious solution? Probably. But in keeping with my default </span><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> black-and-white thinking, compromise doesn't come easily for me. I'm willing to give it a shot, though, and hoping that it won't be long before that second wind kicks in.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-91924397511523754822009-06-15T12:03:00.004-04:002009-06-15T12:56:27.509-04:00Dear Bar 8<span style="font-family: arial;">Dear Bar Seat Number 8,</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I appreciate the great enthusiasm you have for wanting to pay the check. Really, I do. However, I am currently actively engaged in taking an order from the person sitting next to you (that would be Bar Seat Number 7), and when you try to get my attention by waving your hand in between our faces in a frantic chopping motion, it makes me want to swat it. Hard.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />It is my job and not your job to manage the needs of the eighteen (no exaggeration) people who are currently demanding my attention, so I certainly don't expect you to know the crazed way in which I am juggling all those priorities in my head. In a way you made my job a bit easier by moving yourself to the top of the list.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">But I don't think I'm quite at the stage where I can thank you for that.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I know you would like think you are my only customer, but when you're dining in a restaurant, you can expect that you are not your server or bartender's only focus. We all have to share our love-- spread it wide and far. We try to be fair. We try to act like you're the only person we have to take care of. We try to tap into our inner lap dancer and pretend like you are the only person that exists in the world. <br /><br />But when it comes down to it, we have to see to lots of people. And sometimes that means you have to wait nine seconds for your check while I take someone else's order.<br /><br />Or at the very least it means you needn't stick your hand in my face. <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Anyway, I hope you got to where you needed to be, with a belly full of fennel salad and a refreshing Negroni on the rocks.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Sincerely,<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Your Bartender Who Wishes More Than You Do That She Were Not Being Pulled In A Million Different Directions<br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-7796407106825591652009-06-14T01:36:00.002-04:002009-06-14T01:57:17.982-04:00A Dream About Bartending<span style="font-family: arial;">last night's dream:</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I am bartending at a bar that is in the upstairs bathroom of the house I grew up in, and it is on a cruise ship.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Five middle-aged, middle-American, white women are gathered around the bar, which is where the sink should be. One of them wants to order the rhubarb cocktail. [note: the restaurant where I work is, in fact, featuring a cocktail made with rhubarb juice right now.] Then another one wants one. And then suddenly they all want the same cocktail.<br /><br />It's easier just to make five at once, I think to myself.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>One of them says pipes up.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> I just looove rhubarb pie!</span> she says.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />I wonder if she knows what she has ordered, if she thinks she is getting pie.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's a cocktail, not pie</span>, I say.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rhubarb pie is my favorite pie!</span> she implores.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">I let it go.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">I begin to mix the cocktails. I do so not by shaking them in a cocktail shaker but by mixing them in my mouth and them spitting them out. But I don't even spit them into glasses; I spit them into shallow terracotta gratin dishes.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />No one blinks an eye, but I think that the cocktail seems a bit low in volume and I wonder if it should have been more, if maybe I'd made them too skimpy.<br /><br />The End.<br /><br />[Oh, and just for the record, I have never spit in anyone's food or beverage nor ever would, lest any paranoidals accuse me of doing so. But any other pathology you can extrapolate from this dream I probably have no defense for.]<br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-48398844058701342012009-06-08T01:02:00.007-04:002009-06-08T21:25:09.216-04:00Dear Table 17<span style="font-family:arial;">Dear Table 17,</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I'm sure you hear this all the time, but what a toddler you have! She is just about as adorable as adorable gets in the whole spectrum of adorableness. That cute little face! Such an engaging smile! She appears to be nothing short of delightful.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />You must be so thrilled to have such an animated little moppet to call your own. Just look at how she stands confidently on her highchair and waves her fork aloft. Was that a handful of pizza she just flung onto the floor with focus and commitment of a major league pitcher? Her feats of coordination and whimsy are the likes of which I rarely, if ever, see in a child who is barely verbal.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And I know she's so much more than just her darling looks and lively demeanor. I'm sure she's got wicked smarts, way advanced for her age. And sharp wit. And a heart the size of an island nation</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">With those traits I bet that one day she will burgeon into adulthood gripping the cure for cancer in one hand and the key to peace in the Middle East in the other.<br /><br />Really, it's undeniable that she's destined for greatness. J</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ust look at how she </span><span style="font-family:arial;">commands the attention of <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> in the restaurant as she calls out with great enthusiasm and authority. She sure doesn't let </span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">her lack of ability to speak actual words stop her from vocalizing-- at decibel levels that would send OSHA scrambling to slap earplugs on all of us working at the restaurant tonight.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">And she doesn't let up. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">What persistence! She just keeps going and going. She barely needs to stop to breathe!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Your vacant stares suggest that you might be somewhat desensitized to her elevated utterances-- numb to them, even. You've probably had to learn to tune them out as a survival mechanism, assuming that her public restaurant behavior is similar to her behavior at home. But I can assure you that even if I were able to act as if the piercing, stabbing pain of her high-pitched shrieks did not exist, it would not mean that my eardrums would not still shatter, which I think they just did.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Well there she goes again! It sure has been a spirited last hour. You can tell by the gnarled grimaces and clenched teeth of the other sixty people in the restaurant right now.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Well, I could go on and on, but I really should go and try to sop up the blood coming out of my ears.<br /><br />Hope you had a lovely dinner.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Your Bartender Formerly Known As Able To Hear Normally<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-18105713604209528442009-05-26T00:47:00.004-04:002009-05-26T00:50:31.938-04:00Eavesdropping<span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />Well, now I can spot VD from a mile away!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />-young man with three friends, table 25, seat 3, approximately 9:15 pm, so sad I didn't hear the rest of the conversation.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-30226973999707835702009-05-12T19:15:00.004-04:002009-05-12T20:27:09.761-04:00The Center of the Universe<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />If you haven't been able to find it, I can tell you where it was tonight: the Center of the Universe came and sat at the bar, and I got to wait on her.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I tried not to make any snap judgments about her by her wildly dyed, attention-getting hair style. And I tried to suspend my interpretation of the air of self-satisfaction she exuded. And I gave her the benefit of the doubt when she first beckoned me over to her with an air of urgency even though I was already clearly on my way to tend to her.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">She was nice enough. Almost </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >too</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> nice, though. The kind of nice that says <span style="font-style: italic;">I know how to act like I am nice though really I require your constant focus and if I don't get it, I will unleash the hell-on-wheels that I really am.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I set her up with a cocktail, and as she and her dinner companions waited at the bar for their table to be set, the C of the U continued to peruse the beverage menu (it's an interesting read) as I waited on other folks at the bar.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Excuse me</span>, she said, extending an arm over the bar and toward me. As in the me who was talking to another person on the other end of the bar.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I glanced over my shoulder and signaled that I'd be right over.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I walked with a deliberate slowness toward her. <span style="font-style: italic;">Yes?</span> I asked with an even more deliberate sweetness.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh</span>, she started. <span style="font-style: italic;">If you're busy it can wait.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No, no</span>, I say. <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm all yours. Please go ahead.</span><br /><br />And I meant this because I wanted to know what was so pressing.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />She smiles fake-sheepishly. <span style="font-style: italic;">What's Cynar?</span> she asked, pointing to one of the ingredients on the cocktail list.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I am always happy to answer questions about the menu (it's part of what I do, after all), and this one is a common one.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It's an Italian liqueur distilled from artichoke</span>, I began. <span style="font-style: italic;">It's kind of sweet and bitter and herbaceous and vegetal.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, cool</span>, she replied, looking back down at the menu, which I took as my dismissal.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I eyed another customer who needed to give me an order and headed over to him.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />As soon as I got there, the call came in again.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Excuse me</span>, she implored.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And when I say implored, I mean she wasn't just casually trying to get my attention; her tone was just shy of suggesting that there was a natural disaster about to befall the bar and that I must act with all due imperativeness.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I consider ignoring her, but I turned around, smiling.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, it can wait</span>, she bluffed again.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I ended up answering two more questions in this fashion of hers, waiting until I'm otherwise occupied before she decides she must talk to me right away and then acting like she's just suddenly realized that she was interrupting me and feigning politeness by deferring to the other bar patron.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I know this game.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I've played it before. With other Centers of the Universe.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The kicker? Turns out she works in a restaurant, suggesting to me that she should know extra better than to try to talk to the bartender while that bartender is talking to other customers.<br /><br />You don't have to be an astrophysicist to know that.<br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-10245727825110986322009-02-18T22:53:00.006-05:002009-02-19T02:24:06.571-05:00Black Saturday<span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Valentine's Day this year fell not only on a Saturday but also on a holiday weekend, so we were good and braced for a long, busy day.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Sarah and Neki raised spirits with Winnie-the-Pooh and Strawberry Shortcake Valentine cards. And Johnny Cannoli (sort of his real name) set the mood for the day by showing his love through what he does best: cooking. Before the restaurant got too busy, out from the wood-burning oven came a heart-shaped pizza.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-aFDMeZ4aq1733oB9yHjJc6pwM7g45SjX0QzZk_5RPjK866zGEYTOJBpy9ctjTvh2xvJWk-HzZpuBxlzopJ4GnOmHWMMbYbXpALSjeVDg-TClTQIcTXZMM9dFCCvhZHTDH_B2IS-5iE/s1600-h/prue,+pizza,+staff+-+04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-aFDMeZ4aq1733oB9yHjJc6pwM7g45SjX0QzZk_5RPjK866zGEYTOJBpy9ctjTvh2xvJWk-HzZpuBxlzopJ4GnOmHWMMbYbXpALSjeVDg-TClTQIcTXZMM9dFCCvhZHTDH_B2IS-5iE/s400/prue,+pizza,+staff+-+04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304352144037232770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />What about that pie doesn't scream love?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So this holiday is known as Black Saturday because, theoretically, it's one of those busy nights that will help put a restaurant "in the black." Restaurants are infamous for jacking up prices and offering expensive set menus and overbooking their tables to help achieve this financial goal.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I will hasten to point out that this is not the case where I work.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">In the industry, Valentine's day is also one of those events known affectionately as "amateur night," a night when non-restaurant-going folks feel obligated to go out to dinner. It's up there with Mother's Day and New Year's Eve, when restaurants are crammed with dazed and overwhelmed diners who might or might not actually want to be there. They are notorious for ordering cheaply, socializing poorly with the servers, and leaving tips not commensurate with service.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />But we try to look forward to these nights anyway. Like any other night, we remind ourselves. Only busier. More challenging. We'll sleep really well after.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I only worked lunch so was spared the mania of the dinner shift, which, from all reports, was one of the busier nights we've had of late.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> It was a night of controlled craziness, with the kitchen pumping out food at a furious pace and the floor staff scrambling in the most pleasant way possible, trying to appease a crowd of people who were competing for seats, food, and attention.<br /><br />Me, I was home tucked into my recliner under a blanket with a big book and a big mug of tea while visions of festive pizza danced in my head.<br /><br />All thanks to Jonathan for getting us off to a deliciously Valentiney start!<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73Og-8cQrTCfxpqUsH9Z_ybOP7LoHH8KONsU7dykMZbFKYJpQQ_GIMfCjYS4DKfCgO1XniuhnuSNzAiRwenyscwcHlJq4r2LEdmdmHPzO7Zj3b9OANmyFhNEhYyb3Cb81ehb2utM4iRc/s1600-h/prue,+pizza,+staff+-+05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73Og-8cQrTCfxpqUsH9Z_ybOP7LoHH8KONsU7dykMZbFKYJpQQ_GIMfCjYS4DKfCgO1XniuhnuSNzAiRwenyscwcHlJq4r2LEdmdmHPzO7Zj3b9OANmyFhNEhYyb3Cb81ehb2utM4iRc/s400/prue,+pizza,+staff+-+05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304352144177475858" border="0" /></a>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-61038511525845287432009-02-10T00:21:00.008-05:002009-02-10T10:30:32.253-05:00What We Like To Tell Ourselves<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />In my barista days, I made plenty of nonfat mochas with extra whipped cream. As a server, I've put in orders for pizza with extra cheese and bacon with a hot fudge sundae for dessert and a diet Coke to wash it down. I've heard men order fondue and steak in the same meal and say, <span style="font-style: italic;">Thank god I take Lipitor!</span><br /><br />And now, as a bartender, I can say I did something that really, I never could have seen coming.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Saturday night was possibly the busiest night I've ever worked at the bar. From beginning to end, for at least six and a half hours straight, I was bounced from one end of the bar to the other, mixing drinks and taking orders and trying to keep clear in my mind the eighteen things I needed to be doing at every second. It was so intense that I swear the pressure I was under was making my hands shake as I poured drinks, my blood sugar plummeting and my adrenaline levels soaring.<br /><br />It was way-super-crazy busy.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Anyhow, in the thick of the busyness, a woman waiting with her friends for a table watched me as as I built and shook a cocktail made from vodka, meyer lemon juice, and simple syrup.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That looks delicious!</span> she gushed. <span style="font-style: italic;">Is it just vodka and juice?</span> she asked.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There's also sugar in it</span>, I said as amiably as I could while my mind frantically tried to figure out my next several moves.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Can you make one with Sweet 'n Low?</span> she asked.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />This question was enough to get me to stop everything I was doing. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Um, well, I don't know if that would work so well,</span> I said, feeling protective of the cocktail recipe.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, I make drinks all the time with it at home,</span> she said confidently.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Well,</span> I said. <span style="font-style: italic;">I only have Equal.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">That should have gotten me off the hook.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> But the woman fumbled through her purse and fished out a tiny pink packet.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh look! </span>she exclaimed triumphantly<span style="font-style: italic;">. I've got some Sweet 'n Low with me!</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">She carried it <span style="font-style: italic;">with her?</span> Couldn't I be tested on some night when I didn't have seven cocktails that needed to be made right at that moment, not to mention the plates that needed to be cleared, the cash that needed to be rung in to the register, the orders that needed to be put in the computer?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I was going to have to throw the game, lose the battle. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />For the sake of keeping the flow of the bar going, I took the path of least resistance. It would have taken far too much effort and time for me to explain the importance of maintaining the integrity of the drink.<br /><br />And at the end of the day, it was clear this woman was going to love the drink made her way; it was what she <span style="font-style: italic;">really, really</span> wanted, and it was obvious that I was physically capable of making it for her.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I took the pink packet and, cringing on the inside, made her that cocktail.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">She sipped. She swooned. She expressed pleasure and gratitude. I had made her night.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />She liked it so much, in fact, that over the course of her dinner she ordered <span style="font-style: italic;">two more</span> sugar-free concoctions, employing the servers as baffled couriers shuttling the packets of saccharin from her table to the bar.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And what did she eat for dinner? Not one but </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >two</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> bowls of one of the heartiest dishes on the menu: pasta with pork sausage ragù topped with a rich dollop of whipped ricotta cheese.<br /><br />If she ingested less than an entire day's calories in just her main courses alone, I would be surprised. I guess that forty calories of sugar in those cocktails would have just put her over her edge.<br /><br />They almost put me over mine.<br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-38070475569290659272008-12-22T17:02:00.000-05:002008-12-22T17:04:16.015-05:00An, Um, Intimate Dinner<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The three women at table 15 started off a little bit, well, challenging.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Hello</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I greet them. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >May I bring you...</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Do you have a bar here?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> a voice cuts in. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Is there liquor here?</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Yes</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I answer. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >You have the drink menu right there in your hands. I'll give you a moment to look that over while I get you water.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I return to the table with the water, ready to take a drink order.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >We know what we want to eat!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> seat 2 pipes up, to my surprise. I was sure the drink order would come first.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I jot down the order on my notepad.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />I'll bring the octopus and the dandelion salad to start, and then I'll bring the soup as a second course with the pastas</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I confirm.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />But you'll bring the appetizers first, right?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> the woman in seat 1 asks.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Yes</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I affirm, poker-faced. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I will bring your appetizers first.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />And now we need drinks!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> enthuses the woman in seat 2.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Seat 3 clutches the drink menu. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Do the house cocktails have alcohol in them?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> she asks, looking intently at the selection of cocktails, which list their alcohol-based ingredients.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Yes, they do</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I say.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />I want something with a real kick to it!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> she says animatedly, making a fist and poking it through the air as she says "kick."</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I consider what this statement could mean. Does she want something that was very high in alcohol, or is she looking for something flavorful? I can ask her, but I go with my hunch: that she's looking for the buzz.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br />What kind of cocktails do you like to order?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I ask, trying to assess what she might enjoy.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />She turns her head to look at me blankly then goes back to the menu. In the mean time, the other women at the table, trying to be helpful (I suppose), read off the names of the cocktails.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I go for another question. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Is there a particular liquor you prefer?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />There is absolutely no response. Suddenly, seat 2 gets very excited. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Beet martini! Get a beet martini!</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Okay</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, says seat 4, with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />So you like gin,</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I affirm, knowing that drink will be an automatic turn-off to anyone who doesn't.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />As there is still no response, I mentally shrug, writing down the order as seat 2 looks at the menu. She is audibly mumbling, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hmmm... What do I want, what do I want?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> as she leafs through the menu. She stops at the beer page. She stops at the wine page. She stops at the non-alcoholic drinks page. She finally lands on the cocktail and aperitif page (which, ironically, is actually the first page of the menu).</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The restaurant is rather quiet at the moment, but this does not mean that there aren't other things that I could be doing. Like not having to watch her read every word of the drink menu and think out loud.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Good thing you aren't busy!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> she observes.<br /><br />Is it better or worse that she is conscious of her behavior? I don't know. But I stand there, a patient, captive audience, giving no hint that even though I am not busy, her behavior is no less annoying.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />She finally settles on an aperitif, and I go to send the orders through the computer. It's late afternoon when the shifts change over, so I sit down to eat family meal while the other servers take over the tables.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />When I'm done eating, I stop at table 15 who is now at the end of the meal. Seat 3 now has now turned so she's leaning her back against the wall and has both legs draped over the chair next to her, feet sticking out into the aisle.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >I am so drunk!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> she barks good-naturedly at me as I begin to stack empty plates on my arm.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I smile a small smile of acknowledgment. Clearly in my absence, someone had had another martini.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But approval of their dining experience was not just shared with me.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >We want to kiss the chef and owner on both cheeks!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> they gush to my co-worker Sarah.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />That was amaaazing!</span> they howl, slapping their on the table for emphasis.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Eating here is like getting fucked!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> they whoop at my other co-worker Morgan, who conveys this story with the assurance that this is, in fact, praise-- and with a look on her face like she's not sure she's working in a restaurant anymore.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Not to toot our own horn, but we are used to hearing the generously positive comments that comes from our diners who make happy faces and tummy-rubbing gestures to express their content.<br /><br />But really? <span style="font-style: italic;">Like getting fucked?</span> I can't quite imagine expressing my contentment in this way to anyone, really, but especially not to my server, but then again, I can't imagine a more entertaining start to a Saturday night of waiting tables.<br /><br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-12783982489191578812008-10-22T11:26:00.004-04:002008-10-22T12:21:18.035-04:00Judgment Day<span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was three seconds into arriving at the restaurant for the dinner shift when I saw Sarah, who'd been working lunch that afternoon. Before she could even say hello, the first words out of her mouth were <em>Oh boy do I have a blog entry for you!</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Knowing how easygoing Sarah is, I thought <em>This is going to be a doozy.</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Turns out that aside from a generally hectic service that included parties of people that were really too big for the restaurant all coming at the same time, one party asked for Diet Coke to be put in their children's sippy cups-- you know, those little plastic cups with lids for kids who are too uncoordinated to manage a regular glass.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And if they're too young to manage a glass you might think that they're too young to be drinking diet soda. But apparently not.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The reaction to this request by the staff was one of visceral disgust. One of us was inspired to run to the office to use google.com to research why it's so awful to feed diet soda-- or any soda, actually-- to a small child. (If you think about it, really there is no human being in the whole world who should drink Diet Coke.) Mostly it seemed the staff was aghast at the message that giving a toddler a diet drink gives, and that made us simultaneously angry and sad.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We often (invisibly) raise our eyebrows at odd requests. Ice for a glass of wine, a non-fat (<em>Be sure it's non-fat!</em>) mocha with extra whipped cream. But more than one co-worker called that family's behavior child abuse. And I can only agree to some extent, only if you're sure to include feeding kids McDonald's ever and exposing them to the reactionary, sexist programming that is the Disney Channel, which is to say that there are plenty of questionable moves that could stand some scrutiny. Amongst our food-conscious, source-conscious, and (mostly) health-conscious staff, this Diet Coke incident just really hit a nerve.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Abuse? Eh, probably not. Mind-numbing ignorance? Oh, you betcha.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So what do we servers do when confronted with a request such as this one? We do our jobs: we smile extra big to cover up the horror on our faces that would come bursting through if we didn't, and we follow through, pouring little cups of Diet Coke for children too small to know their taste buds are being ruled by completely artificial flavors that don't even sort-of exist in nature.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And then we lay the story our co-workers as soon as we get a chance.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-46315829010203499792008-10-15T22:12:00.002-04:002008-10-15T22:14:38.011-04:00A Conversation<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Nice Customer at Table 1: Are two desserts enough for four people?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Me: Not in </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >my</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> family.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-41471671433777871492008-10-14T00:26:00.002-04:002008-10-14T00:30:51.406-04:00A Conversation<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Bar Customer: I bet you're voting for McCain.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Me: That's the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-82455258218488453602008-09-18T17:06:00.004-04:002008-09-18T17:16:21.758-04:00Lessons in Science<span style="font-family:arial;">I've never taken a physics class. That's because I could never get beyond Algebra 2 (as it was called some twenty-odd years ago). And chemistry? A disaster. It's the only class I ever got a D in when I was in high school. I was so inept that I couldn't even manage to get an F so that I could at least try to take the class over for a better grade.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So science: not my strong suit. Most of what I've learned about physics is stuff I just sort of experience, like gravity, say. And waiting tables, oddly enough. One of the unexpected perks of my job is having some basic principles of science come to light. For instance:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><strong>Two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time.</strong></em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This means that when I'm trying to set down a plate of food in front of you, I won't be able to if there is something already sitting in front of you, which includes, but is not limited to, the following (all of which I have seen set on a restaurant table at some point):</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">hands</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">elbows </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">forearms </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">heads<br />feet</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">rear ends</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">your water/wine/beverage glass </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">someone else's water/wine/beverage glass </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">napkins </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">utensils </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">cell phones </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">iPhones </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Blackberrys </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Trios </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">laptops </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">cameras </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bluetooth devices </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">keys </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">sunglasses </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">dentures (ew ick) </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">books </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">newspapers </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">magazines </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">notebooks </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">crossword puzzles </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sudoku puzzles<br />find-a-word puzzles </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">jigsaw puzzles</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">knitting projects </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">pens </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">iPods<br />mp3 players </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">radios </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">portable CD players </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">cosmetics </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">rings </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">earrings </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">necklaces </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">bracelets </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">baby bottles </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">pacifiers<br />soiled diapers </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">chubby board books </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">stuffed animals dolls </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">toy cars </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">crayons </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">coloring books </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Legos </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">baby blankets </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">birthday gifts </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">anniversary gifts </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">graduation gifts</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">hypodermic needles<br />prescription drugs<br />non-prescription drugs<br />food brought from home<br />food brought from another restaurant<br />headgear<br />retainers </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">flowers </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">guns (yup) </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">brochures<br />Playbills </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">maps </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">hats </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">sweaters </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">shoes </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">umbrellas </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">sports equipment </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">wallets </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">purses </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">children</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So while I'm standing there with a plate in my hand, the pads of my fingers being branded by the searing hot underside, and you're reaching across the table to hold the hand of someone you love so that your arms are outstretched right where the plate should go, and you're staring at me, waiting for me to set the plate down, but I'm trying to give you a momentary benefit of the doubt and hope you'll move, but then I have to say something truly inane and obvious, like <em>Excuse me, please. May I set down this plate?</em> and you say <em>Yes</em>, but you don't move, then I have to say, <em>I'm sorry, but may I trouble you to move your arms?</em>, it would all go a lot more quickly if we just all kept in mind that two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><em>It's harder to hit a moving target.</em></strong><br />It happens with great frequency that as I am trying to pour someone a glass of wine or refill water or steaming hot coffee that that person will move the glass or cup around on the table. Usually the person is trying to "help" by pushing the glass toward me, but this is not, in fact, helpful when the person continues to move the glass or unless the glass is completely out of reach, in which case I would ask for access to the glass in the first place.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes people will sort of swirl the wine glass as I pour or sort of absently tilt the water glass back and forth, which is also counterproductive. Sometimes people try to take the glass away while I'm still pouring, which I imagine is just some random act of over-eagerness. And what usually results is my spilling liquid on the table, or worse yet, on one of those items listed above.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><strong>An object at rest stays at rest unless acted upon by another force.</strong></em><br />I'm as guilty as the next guy of flailing my arms about while talking; in particular I tend to make big, outward circles with my arms, as if I were trying to animate the idea of something being as big as the world. But when I'm in a restaurant, I try especially hard to check myself. And here's why:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Many years ago, I was carrying a particularly large armload of dishes I had just bussed from a table, both my hands full. On the top of the stack, there was a precariously balanced portion of lasagna that was to be packed to go. On my way from the table back to the service station, I walked past a table right at the moment when a woman on the aisle was taking off her pull-over sweater. With one large sweep of her arms, she knocked directly into that carefully stacked pile of dishes on my left arm. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The force was great enough that it sent me stepping backward and swaying back and forth to keep those plates on my arm. I don't remember how I managed it, but I know that I ended up in a sort of semi-squat, one knee almost touching the floor, the stack of plates leaning back against my chest and shoulder, the other arm hugging the tower to me. The restaurant fell silent as I struggled to keep the pile aloft for a couple of seconds that seemed like minutes, waiting for the the dramatic crash that never came because somehow the bussing gods were with me, and I managed to save that piece of lasagna.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay, so the lasagna wasn't exactly at rest, but you get the idea. The same principle of arm waving goes for wild gesticulation resulting in the upturning and breakage of glasses of wine and water. And I can't count how many times I've been elbowed in the gut or backhanded in the face by someone who was so into the conversation that my presence went completely undetected. So the lesson: keep your hands close in. I have to remind myself of this one often.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><em>Balance is golden.<br /></em></strong>Please don't pull drinks off the tray when I'm trying to serve them to you. Please. They're balanced on there carefully, and I'm adjusting my hand underneath that tray to compensate for weight changes. I've set the heaviest objects in the middle of the tray, directly over my hand to maximize support and to get the best balance. Sometimes, though, heavy things have to go on the perimeter, so when that heavy thing is lifted off, the tray works like a see-saw, and if I'm not careful to counterbalance, the drinks on the other side of the tray will go flying, or more likely, crashing to the floor. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't expect you to be touching my tray, so when you do, I'm generally not ready for it to happen, and I can't anticipate the weight change, and if there's a drink I'm trying to serve with my other hand, I can't use that hand to help catch the tray. I suppose once in a while I might be working a cocktail party where it is expected that you should take your own glass off the tray, but in that instance the drink will be proffered, but it will be clear that you've got the go-ahead. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But otherwise, please don't touch my tray!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><em>Balance is golden, the corollary.<br /></em></strong>There is a science and a strategy to clearing tables of empty (or not so empty) plates. Big ones need to go on the bottom, utensils need to be consolidated in one place (generally on the big plate on the bottom), there must be allowances for food left on plates (especially food that is to be wrapped to take home), a balance must be found so that plates do not fall over (see lasagna story above). Before and as we are clearing tables, we are calculating how we are going to approach the next thing we are going to pick up-- what's furthest out of reach, what one dish will compromise the stack because it's shaped differently, how we're going to reach over to grab a dish without dropping the dishes we are already holding or without elbowing a customer in the eye.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So when I'm clearing plates and you've waving one under my nose, shoving it toward me repeatedly, trying to get me to take it from you, there's a good reason I don't: because I can't right then. Sometimes a customer's desire to be "helpful" is so persistent that I have to take the plate and set it back down on the table until I can get to it. It makes me feel mildly like a jerk, but I always smile and say thank you when I do it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh, and stacking plates doesn't help. Resist the urge to do it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Well, that's all the science I've got in me today. Next stop: organic chemistry. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just kiddin'.<br /><br />Class dismissed!</span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-10944216806222469102008-08-01T21:15:00.004-04:002008-08-04T12:32:32.245-04:00You Can Take the Waiter Out of the Restaurant...<span style="font-family:arial;">...but you might as well have left her there.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I just got back from a visit to my home state of California, to the little hamlet on the east side of the San Francisco Bay known as Oakland. It's the home of the Athletics, Fairyland, and Jack London Square. And it's got a lot of good food going on. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />In the six and a half days I was there, I made it a point to eat out in a lot of restaurants, hitting some of my old favorites and trying some new places as well. In theory, it seems like a lovely idea to have a week to sit in restaurants and be waited on instead of being the one to do all the waiting, to have someone refill my water glass, reset my knife and fork for each course, bring me stuff just because I asked for it. I won't need to clear away stacks of plates on my arm, take orders, or scurry to the kitchen to get hot food out with all due expediency.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />But sometimes it doesn't really work out that way.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I find it exceedingly difficult to sit and mind my own business when I'm eating in a restaurant (those of you who know me will not be surprised about that minding-my-own-business part). I used to be fairly insistent on sitting facing the dining room to get a good view everything, but out of necessity, I've had to start sitting with my back to the action, or else i'll have trouble paying attention to dinner. And to whomever is dining with me.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I have a tendency to eavesdrop as the servers greet the tables next to me, run through the specials, and describe a dish; I'm not just looking for ways to be critical, but I'm actually curious to hear other servers' verbage, maybe learn something new. I'll note at what point they appear to start getting really busy, what the division of labor is, how they interact with each other. I'll wonder what it's like to work there.<br /><br />I'll think </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Hey, why are you standing there chatting with your co-workers when this table over here needs more water?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I'll hear a table give the server a hard time and resist the urge to lean over and say </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Nobody cares if you already ate chicken for lunch today! Would you just order already!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />After years and years, I think I have finally shaken the habit of popping up out of my chair when I hear a bell ring in a restaurant; it's generally the signal that hot food needs to be taken to a table, and in pretty much any restaurant, it's the number one priority. So I've been conditioned to make a dash for the kitchen when I hear that bell. I've finally gotten to the point where I just sort of flinch when I hear the bell but I don't actually try to stand up.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Pavlov and that dog have got nothing on me.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Once, when I was in a restaurant in Boston that I had never been to and, in fact, not even eaten at that night, I was walking out past a row of tables and saw a check presenter with a credit card sitting on top of it, the universal sign for "I'd like to pay the bill now, please!" Reflexively, I reached for it, went so far as to put my hand on it for a millisecond before pulling it away as if I'd been given a strong electric shock.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">And this is not the first time this has happened. Maybe some sort of electro-something therapy is just what I need.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I have, on more than one occasion, wished other diners a pleasant evening on their way out the door. I've offered up my napkin when I've seen a spill, pointed people in the direction of the restrooms, even offered answers when the server's not nearby and someone wants to know what that white stuff is on their plate. <span style="font-style: italic;">It's the cauliflower gratin! </span> I'll chirp, having analyzed the menu moments before.<br /><br />Once my friend James and I were having dinner next to a man who ordered coffee with his dessert. It came in a French press pot, but he didn't know how to use it, so when he poured the coffee, a bunch of coffee grounds ended up in his cup. He looked disappointed and confused, and I debated with James for a good long while if I should show him how to use the pot. Would I insult him if I showed him? Or would he be grateful not to be getting coffee grounds in his teeth?<br /><br />In the end, I leaned over and asked him <span style="font-style: italic;">Can I show you something?</span> and probably not quick enough to say no, he said with some hesitation<span style="font-style: italic;"> Yes</span>, and so I plunged that press down and said in the least condescending way I could muster <span style="font-style: italic;">That keeps the grounds from coming out</span>. And of course I was smiling in a waiterly way.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thanks</span>, he said reluctantly, wondering if he shouldn't be encouraging my behavior.<br /><br />Did I embarrass him? Possibly. Was he really glad to drink chunk-free coffee? I'm sure of it.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Anyway, I managed to keep myself mostly in check at all of the thirteen restaurants I was served in this past week. There was one case of disorganized, not very good service where watching the staff was a bit agonizing, but otherwise I have to say that I pretty much just sat back and got waited on. And loved every minute of it. And didn't pop out of my seat once.<br /><br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-64347271273320462072008-07-01T23:00:00.003-04:002008-07-02T00:36:30.343-04:00The Funk<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />A gazillion thanks to everyone who's gotten in on the first couple of entries so far. It seems my Tale of the Screeching Child and the Vomit Towel struck a chord for several people who either laughed out loud or suffered some form of post traumatic stress disorder. So thank you for your feedback and comments!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So last week, I sort of tumbled into a crabby funk with regards to work. This happens to all of us once in a while, even those of us who normally enjoy going to work and being waiters. One day I was fine, and the next day I thought I would smack someone on the back of the head with a drink tray. <br /><br />By the end of my shift the other day, I was so at my end that I said to Marty and Sergio, <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not speaking to anyone for two weeks!</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Why?</span> they asked.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />I can't tell you</span>, I said with an exaggerated pout, <span style="font-style: italic;">because I'm not talking to anyone!<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Can we get that in writing? </span>their raised eyebrows seemed to say to me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br />Sergio shrugged and went back to polishing glasses. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Here's what part of what contributed to my malaise:<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">On Thursday night, I greet the people at table ten and ask if they'd like to start with tap water, which is standard procedure at the restaurant.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">This is my first mistake.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The young man says yes, and the bright-eyed doe across from him bats her eyelashes and says she'd like hot water and lemon.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />There is no rational explanation for why that request makes waiters the world over want to throw a tantrum. There is something so deeply annoying about being asked for hot water and lemon. I don't know why. It's not much more effort to do, and yet it makes us feel somehow instantly irked and resentful. Especially when we're already feeling a bit maxed out.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />But this we never show. I walk back to the espresso machine, prepare a small pot of hot water, put a cup on a saucer with a spoon, go back across the restaurant to get a wedge of lemon from the bar, fill a glass with tap water, and bring everything to the table. As I'm setting down the waters, I ask if they have any questions about the menu.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />This is mistake number two.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Does the anchovy pizza taste like anchovies?</span> Doe-eyes asks, leaning over her cup of hot water toward me and blinking her eyes hard. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I've been asked variations of this question before. Is the lamb really lamby? Is the chocolate cake really chocolatey? These can be totally valid questions, but when it comes to anchovies in particular, I've been down this road many times before. Usually a question like this means one of a few things:<br /><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;">they like anchovies and want to make sure the pizza is bursting with anchovy-goodness.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">they've never had anchovies and they want to try them, but there's some hesitation that the pizza will be too anchovy-y.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">they don't generally like anchovies, but maybe they once ate something that had anchovies in it and they were cool with it, and they're trying to determine the exact level of anchovyness in the pizza to see if it will be like that caesar salad or bagna cauda they once ate and didn't find offensive.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">they were sent from the universe to annoy the crap out of me. </span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Right now, I'm leaning toward the latter.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I tell them that the anchovies are definitely prominent, which is part of why that pizza is so delicious, and, when I see faces scrunch in disapproval, I add that there are other wonderful choices, too.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Okay</span>, the man says. <span style="font-style: italic;">Do the clams taste like clams?</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I am biting my tongue, quite literally, to keep from saying <span style="font-style: italic;">Nope! We only use chicken-flavored clams!</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Really, I'm just a bit numb. I have no idea what clam-intensity scale they are using to base their opinion of clammyness on.<br /><br />I tell them that the clam pizza is a signature dish and is wonderful and that the clams do, in fact, taste like fresh, delicious clams.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I even manage to say this without sounding sarcastic or condescending. Or at least I hope so.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And then I have one of those flashes of <span style="font-style: italic;">Wow, I can't believe I do this for a living.</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I step away as they contemplate the menu and I immediately start wondering how much of a jerk I might have just sounded like. Was I being just a bit too judgmental? Probably. Did I totally misread them? I can't tell. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Was I nice enough? I tried to be. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Did my tone of voice betray my quickly dwindling patience? Let's hope not. Was I supposed to be trying harder to sell them on the clams? It's too late to go back and figure that out.<br /><br />These are a lot of thoughts to think about one table and a pizza I wasn't even going to eat.<br /><br />So as it turned out, they got the clam pizza! And they liked it! And they didn't stay for dessert! And I didn't completely lose my marbles!<br /><br />It's a few days and few shifts later, and I'm still in a bit of a lull. But it will pass, and when it does, maybe I'll treat myself to an anchovy pizza. It's my favorite.<br /><br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-15892551248425633662008-06-22T01:33:00.004-04:002008-06-23T01:07:51.674-04:00Noise Pollution<span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I'm working the bar last night, and it's a particularly challenging start to dinner service. A toddler is screaming in a pitch so high and agonizingly loud that every time he does this (off and on for about an hour), people in the restaurant visibly flinch, trying to shove their shoulders into their ears to block the noise. One customer at the bar, startled, drops her fork. After each ear-piercing shrill, the restaurant falls completely silent, people laughing nervously and smiling tight, fake smiles because if they don't, they might get up and throttle the parents for not dealing more appropriately with the child.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The parents of the toddler, clearly unaware that sixty other people who have ears are being subjected to his unfortunate ability to tip the decibel scale, are actually <span style="font-style: italic;">encouraging</span> his noisemaking by tickling and playing with him as he screeches. And screeches. And </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >screeeeeches</span><span style="font-family:arial;">.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I wish I could say I'm exaggerating. But I am not.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Simultaneously, at the apartment building right next door, there is some construction going on. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >On an early Saturday evening.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> The workers are just on the other side of the wall separating the bar from the apartment building. It sounds like they're about to come right through the wall.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And then I would probably have to make them martinis.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />BAM! BAM! BAM!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The pounding ceases only temporarily when the drilling starts. When the invasive, violent sounds of what must be a very large drill stop, the pounding starts up again.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">BAM! BAM! BAM!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">And in concert with the screaming child and the hammering, two doors down, right outside their shop, the clothing store is hosting a tiny street fair that features a band complete with amplifiers, so every time the front door of the restaurant opens, I can feel bass guitar reverberating through my arms.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />This all on top of regular restaurant noise: folks dining and talking, the music that plays in the background, the kitchen ringing the bell to call us over to pick up food to deliver to hungry customers.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm so busy I have no idea what time it is, but it can't be later than 6:15. At this rate I expect to lose my hearing altogether by about 6:19.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">The whole scene verges on the comical. All we need is a marching band and some sirens.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I'm already thinking a few hours ahead, to when it slows down enough so that I can grab a muffin. On the way to the garden seating area there's a ledge behind the brick oven where servers keep their bottles of water to hydrate themselves during service, and today, there is also a basket of muffins I made this morning, a cute little wire basket lined with a big, stripey, super absorbent Williams-Sonoma dish towel. On busy nights I'm always glad to have a little snack to bring my blood sugar back up a bit.<br /><br />Tonight, those muffins are my little blueberry light at the end of a fourteen-and-a-half-hour tunnel. (I'm on a double shift to boot.)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />In the midst of the circus of noise, Amanda, one of the servers, comes up to the bar. I'm always happy to see Amanda.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />I have to tell you something</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, she says a bit sheepishly, her head turned down slightly, her lovely, expressive eyes looking at me sideways.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Thinking she's going to tell me I need to re-make a cocktail or that there's a change on the menu, I say, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >What?</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />A kid just threw up out near the garden and the mom grabbed the towel out of your muffin basket to clean it up.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />W-w-what?! </span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I stammer, incredulous.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Amanda tells me again.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I am so freaking busy at this point, I don't even know what to say, if I should say anything at all. I have bottles of wine to open, cocktails to make, checks to drop, food to serve, water glasses to refill, cash to ring into the register, a credit card to run, champagne flutes to wash and polish. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I shake my head back and forth fast, like I'm trying to remove water (or excessive noise) from my ears.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Amanda says, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Maybe I shouldn't have told you right now.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I laugh because if I don't I will cry, scream, and bludgeon.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Good thing I adore Amanda or I might develop really negative feelings about her.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Nah, I know part of the reason she is telling me this is because she is just as shocked and disgusted by the entitlement as anyone, except, of course, for the woman who deliberately pulled out this cute dish towel from a cute basket that contained food and was clearly not meant for wiping up barf.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Sure the mom's probably a little freaked out and maybe embarrassed that her kid a) puked, b) puked in public, and c) puked in public in a restaurant. But it's not like the staff isn't scrambling to help. We have napkins and we're happy to share them. And look! We're coming with them right now!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Yeah, yeah, I know it's just a dish towel. But really. It's the idea that she just usurped it. It wasn't an <span style="font-style: italic;">emergency</span>. If her kid were bleeding profusely, I wouldn't care if she pulled off my <span style="font-style: italic;">shirt</span> to stop the bleeding. But I have no doubt that if my cat puked and I reached into her bag and pulled out the first cloth-like thing I could find she wouldn't appreciate that either.<br /><br />The rest of the night was a little more normal after that. By "normal" of course I mean chaotic, frenzied, and really, really busy. I swear I do more deep breathing when I'm bartending than I do when I'm sitting in meditation. If I don't, I'll fall apart. I know I need to start breathing more consciously when I can feel my heart beating like I've just done a spinning class.<br /><br />Cardiobartending! It's the new strip tease-pole dancing workout!<br /><br />And at least the woman who used my towel didn't destroy the actual muffins. So come midnight, I had my muffin. And after such a crazy night, it was worth the wait.<br /><br /><br /></span>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255281184152810208.post-38751732416861745752008-06-19T14:33:00.001-04:002008-07-27T04:22:55.989-04:00First Course<div style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="snap_preview" ><br />For some time now, I've been threatening to start a blog about my career in restauranting, but I've put it off and put it off and now something's happened and I can't put it off any longer.<br /><br />I had a restaurant dream.<br /><br />Those of us in the business have restaurant dreams all the time, but this was no ordinary restaurant dream. There was no panic because I didn't recognize anything on the menu, nor anxiety because I didn't understand the new configuration of the restaurant, nor freaking out because I had fourteen tables sat at the same time, nor embarrassment because I'd forgotten to put on pants before I got to work.<br /><br />I was walking down a dark hallway and stumbled upon a little family restaurant, just a humble hole-in-the-wall with a kitchen table for dining at, and there was my arch academic rival from high school in a gingham apron holding a steaming pot of food in her oven-mitted hands. She was smiling, and I was surprised to see her in food service when she was so super duper smart and destined to study law or molecular biology or just be handed a Nobel Prize in chemistry one day.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ha!</span> I thought. <span style="font-style: italic;">She's just a waitress!</span><br /><br />But then I thought <span style="font-style: italic;">Wait! So am I!</span><br /><br />When I relayed this dream to a few co-workers at the restaurant the next day, the host, Julia, piped up with words of assurance. "You're not just a waitress," she said as I popped a straw into an icy gin and tonic. "You're also a bartender!"<br /><br />This would indeed be true.<br /><br />(That arch academic rival (who I still think of fondly), by the way, is actually a medical doctor. But can <span style="font-style: italic;">she</span> clear a six top in one pass by herself? I would intuitively answer <span style="font-style: italic;">No</span>.)<br /><br />It was a weird dream for me to have because a) I rarely use the word "waitress" (my goal in life is to bring back "waiter" as a gender-neutral term) and b) I actually love waiting tables, and I would never belittle someone for doing it.<br /><br />I'm fortunate enough to wait tables by choice and not just by circumstance. In about eighteen years, the restaurant thing has really grown on me. It started growing on me years ago, and despite the fact that about 99% of waiters claim to hate their jobs, I feel like I've lucked into a pretty fantastic career.<br /><br />Not that it doesn't come without its challenges. Read any other <a href="http://waiterrant.net/">waiter</a> or <a href="http://www.thefoodwhore.com/">restaurant</a> blog and you'll know that there's plenty of madness to write about in the hospitality game, and in my time, I've amassed a few choice tidbits of my own. Once in a while, in the craziness, I forget why I love my job, so as much as anything, this blog is to help me remember that good things come from waiting tables, even when it makes me feel a little nutty, even if I'm not likely to get a Nobel Prize for it.<br /><br />So who's up for a second course?<br /><br /><p></p></div> <div style="font-family: arial;" class="post-info"> </div>Vanessa Vichit-Vadakanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05834309474901008338noreply@blogger.com4