Serving Time

In the light of a new day, I think perhaps I was a bit harsh yesterday. 

I am determined to push forward and have a great weekend.  The truth is I really DO want everyone to have an amazing experience and feel special which is why it is so frustrating when it is less than that.

So to all you star crossed lovers, hope you are in my restaurant, in my section cause the charm is going to be dripping off me, romance oozing forth, bliss prevailing.  Happy Valentine's Day.

I recently spouted while training some new buss girls that for me it's like a switch, when I'm on the floor it's on and when I walk in the back, off.  I think the acknowledgment of this gift has rendered it useless.  I've been plagued by a string of complaints varying from the somewhat reasonable to the inexplicable insane. 

It always happens like that.  If you get one complaint, you get three.  The last was while I was flambeing some cherries for some regulars and friends, granted the second flame did not go as I would have liked but whatever, the show must go on, next thing I know my friend, whom I happen to be serving with comes to tell me that her table professed to be a flambe expert and felt I had botched the job tremendously.  Granted, it wasn't perfect but her complaint was that we had open bottles on the cart, well I challenge any of you to pour liquor whilst the lid is on, secondly that my first flame was without the cherries blah blah and on and on.  Doesn't really matter the point is I have somehow jinxed myself and as a result am suffering from a section overrun with assholes.  What to do?  Exorcism, incense, deodorant, shower...what do you people want from me, fuck.

I only mention this as we are heading into the hell we in the service industry know as Valentine's weekend.  The pressure is on to make every woman in a ten mile radius feel special while simultaneously making their stupid ass dates look important in the hopes they might get their lame, take their wife out for dinner cause I can't think of anything else to do, asses layed. 

But truly, I love my job.  No really I do, just not the stupid people.  Okay fine, that's just mean but... work with me people.

Tonight I am serving a table who called earlier in the week to speak to the owner and request that it be made clear to their server they absolutely do not want any awkward moments throughout the evening.

Now how can I resist such a thoughtful request? 

I think I am developing a "Fish Called Wanda" type stutter and I feel perhaps my Turrets syndrome surfacing.

And the show goes on.

As for Lola, He was carted off by the police a few days later.  I did, however, run into him in the local store.  He came up to me wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, completely hairless to tell me he got a job as a roofer.  I'm sure that is a much safer environment what with only the tools and hanging out 30 feet in the air. 

The restaurant business is tough, like many others.  There is a constant parade of employees, strange or otherwise, parading through with ever increasing demands in pay due to the shortages in staff.  The ever increasing cost of food, getting it to us and just running the place.  But the difference is customers still do not want to pay more for their food.  Sure, maybe once in a while splurge, but most restaurants can't survive being a once and a while place.  We have been getting weekly increases on staples such as flour, eggs and shipping costs but yet our prices stay the same.  It's tough.

But what about sustainability, unprocessed, organic, local.  That's what we do at home almost exclusively.  I see the restaurant struggle to make a profit and see how buying Alberta beef or Fraser Valley chicken makes a big difference to the bottom line but it just seems so wrong when we have it all at our doorsteps by people who are trying to farm sustainably.  I know it's an easy position for me to take only paying the bills with other people's money but it's a position my family and I really believe in and want to promote but yet I make my living doing otherwise.  It sucks.

I decided to change my blog because, frankly, my life is beautiful and calm and not particularly entertaining.  My job, however, can be quite.

Have you ever been asked my a 6'5'', 300 lb man if you could apply his makeup for him?  Now, I have.

Restaurants are always looking for dishwashers.  They come and go faster than the week's fish special.  I don't know why.  There's been many a night where I would give anything to be the dishwasher.  Peacefully going about your job and watching a mountain of dirty dishes transform into a sparkly pile.  I think it is because it tends to be a lonely job preformed by randy teenage boys who want anything but to be alone with only the occasional lusty buss girl dumping another load by. 

The weekend before last we had just such a specimen in covered with tatoos with his pants half way down his ass sporting a bit of an attitude and for the second weekend in a row phoned with a tale of woe as to why he couldn't come in Friday night so despite a fully loaded reservation book for the next night we had to fire him. 

Then next morning a guy came in asking if we needed a dishwasher.  My boss, who happened to be cooking at the time, and desperately trying to come up with a plan for who we could con into coming dishwash that evening, was thrilled and threw out some standard questions, do you have a resume?  Have you ever dishwashed before?  It turns out buddy hasn't worked for 8 years due to his severe schizophrenia.  But he assurred us he hadn't had an "epsiode" in six months.  Good enough.  Start tonight.

Well all was pretty fine.  He did a great job, if a little creepy.  The next day, pretty much the same, with a little more creepy thrown in.  Then last night.   I was working by myself and tatoo guy comes in demanding his cheque trying to be all intimidating so I finally get rid of him while still running back and forth to my various tables.  I am in the back getting some coffee for some customers and Creepy comes in the kitchen all excited asking me to make a reservation for him for next week.  So I take him out to the reservation book and ask what day, what time and he is literally hopping from foot to foot, bouncing up and down.

 "It's a first date, it has to be real romantic"
 OK
 "No really romantic, it's with Phil"
 I keep writing
 "Did you hear me, it's my first date with Phil" 
Great
"You didn't know I was that way did you, did you?"
No but whatever
"Yes, it's my first date with Phil, I want it to be really romantic with candles but he is kind of shyandheiscomingovertonightandIlitcandlesandit'smyfirstdatewithPhil.  But Don't tell anyone"
okay

A little while later I am serving dessert to woman who smells worse than any smell I have ever smelled and I am forced to hold my breath when the door bursts open again and 6"5, 300 lb Creepy is there again. Great.

"Ummm I was just wondering if you were working on the Tuesday when I'm coming for my first date with Phil?"
No, I'm thankfully off that night
"Cause I'm going to wear a dress and I need someone to do my makeup for me"
me trying desperately to hide my expression

Now I should just say here, I personally have no problem with C, or anyone else for that matter, wearing a dress where ever he likes but we live in a conservative, little village where the predominate industry consists of logging with a dash of tourism and two elite very conservative international private schools. I can not imagine any man wearing a dress anywhere in the community unless it was accompanied by a sporran.

"Cause if you were working I could just come in early and you could do my makeup for me, but since you're not maybe you could just come to my house and do my makeup cause I want to look beautiful"
"Well......first of all, I'm not really a make up sort of girl and I have a family and we're pretty busy on our days off so...no"
"Do you think maybe one of the other girls could do it for me cause I have all the make up and everything I just want to look beautiful"
At this point I was contemplating the look on my boss's face when Creepy comes in for dinner that night with his dress and lipsticked moustache.  I'm slightly tempted to leave it at that but think better of it.
"Ya know C, we're just not that kind of restaurant and I'm worried you might feel a little uncomfortable.  It's probably not a good idea"
"I won't feel uncomfortable, I like wearing a dress and I look very beautiful in it"
"I'm sure you do but maybe you could save that for a special surprise for later in the date, hmmm"
"I won't feel uncomfortable"

I just can't take anymore at this point and I'm starting to notice that irritated, desperate look of wanting for something eminating from smelly so I tell Creepy I've got to go and thankfully he leaves.  So now I have to figure how to dissuade gargantuan Creepy from princessing up for dinner by next Tuesday.

WorkWorkKidsDriveRunKidsVolleyballGuitarRunKidsWorkWorkKidsRunWorkDriveKidsWorkWork.....Repeat.

We are a little over a week into resolutions and promises and so far so good.  Not surprisingly, mostly health oriented both physical and mental.  I'm going to be, gulp, thirty five this year and I really wanted to accomplish a few things that I seem to repeat over and over that I would like to do but never have so....Steve, the kids and I are training for a 10 k run in April.  We are on week two of the program and we are all, much to our astonishment, enjoying it.

In a couple hours I am heading off to my first guitar lesson. 

Last night I went and played in a recreational drop in volley ball league, I haven't played for seventeen years.  It was SO much fun.  I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot diving around out there with this ridiculously huge smile on my face for the whole hour and a half.  I had to arnica most of my body today but whatever.  The most amazing part was when I got home I went in to read to the kids feeling fantastic, fooling around with them and I could see surprise and a sort of internal relaxing happening inside the kids which made me realize how uptight I have been for the last while.  I know I have been, that feeling of having your insides twisted and tied in knots so tight and tense that I walk around constantly irritated.  I hate that.  I hate that my family bears the brunt of that.  They are so wonderful and patient and tolerant.  I adore them.

The restaurant business, generally, has two big seasons: Summer and Christmas.  Summer is a three to four month rush which pays many a University tuition, first cars and world adventures but for some of us it pays the mortgage, food, vacations and yes also school tuitions.  Summer usually means late nights and tourists but it also means sleeping in, stolen hours with the kids at the beach before work and even the occasional late night swim peppered with a few rejuvinating camping trips.

The Christmas season, however, is a entirely different creature.  It is a six week drunken party where every night is someone's special celebration worthy of that extra drink or five, worthy of staying out an hour or five later than usual.  Most of the servers and chef's I know have families and this is their passion and livelyhood not just another story to add to a collection of short lived jobs.  Christmas, like summer, means really late nights but also making lunches in the morning and driving kids to school and there is certainly no sun to provide that extra boost, at least not around here.

Four days ago, I was suffering from the bone deep exhaustion brought about by the last six weeks of all those late nights and beer for dinner with the occasional appetizer of bread and dessert of a handful of nuts here and there.  The tiredness that comes from bringing your best forth every night to make someone's party special.  But now, I have had four days of family, food, rest and relaxation and I feel good. 

When I look around at all my friends in the industry, all of whom are feeling the same way, it amazes me.  I don't know too many other jobs or people who can work 10-12 hours straight for days, sometimes even weeks, on end with no coffee breaks, no dinner breaks, Hell, going to the bathroom can be a challenge and still get up and do what needs to be done for their families the next morning. 

So Cheers! to you all with the big finale coming up for the amazing stamina, compassion and professionalism and may we all breath a collective sigh of relief on January 1st, providing of course, you don't have to work brunch.

I look behind me at the jet stream that has been this last month and I can only sigh and think OK, Christmas then.

Work has been a crazy, demanding, interesting, frustrating journey while my boss has been away for over a month now.  I am both, relieved and sad that he is returning.

The kids have been extraordinarily busy as they are both in a play that opens this weekend.  It has been a month of excessive and late rehearsals.  Tired and grumpy children who are ecstatic to be participating but a little less so to get up for school in the morning.

I have a happy sawdust, peppered husband who is discovering his inner handyman by renovating one of our rooms.  He emerges from his dusty liar occasionally to eat and happily recounts his latest victory then quickly disappears again.

I am resolutely ignoring the mounting housework this morning.  Every time Steve pops back upstairs I see him eyeing my PJ's but I just don't feel like getting dressed today, OK.

My sister came over to visit with the wee one's a week ago and sent some pictures today.

three bears on the couch

                                                             How is my kids got so big? Really.

Bella and nate at our house

                                                               The Best Babysitter in the World.

The snugglers

                                                         Don't  you just wanna pinch those cheeks!

Me and nate at school

                                                                        Reminiscing