Tuesday, September 2

Try to Remember the Kind of September

Okay. Decision needs to be made. Do I look for another job? I went back into the kitchen to get drinks for my table and a giant roach FLEW right at me. My table was right outside the kitchen. I cannot imagine them not noticing. The screams from the other waitresses alone would've certainly gave them alarm. It's wingspan was the size of my hand with my fingers splayed out. Gross.

One of the cooks asked me what I wanted to eat during the lull while the fireworks were going on and the restaurant emptied out. I said, "Nothing." He said, "Come on. Just name it. I'll make it." I said, "I don't want any food from here." I don't think I can continue to serve people knowing that a roach may fly out of the kitchen and land on their plate.

I did make decent money Sunday night, but the crowd was exceptional. Without the fireworks we would have all been standing around staring at each other. I didn't get out of there until almost 1 a.m. One of the other servers was pissed that a few of us got to leave. I didn't even say anything. They cut me so I left. But honestly, I cannot stay that late and be a good mommy. Baby wakes up before 7 a.m. Potentially I could've been there until 3 a.m. A couple of people were there super late the night before waiting on a bachelorette party. I didn't catch up on my sleep until last night.

I might have to see if my friends are hiring at their restaurant. I've worked there before and they have no bugs. Of course, it's such a lovely place I probably wouldn't notice if they did. Just like my mom said to me once when I was complaining about pet hair every where from someone's dog. I said, "I don't remember Ozzie shedding like this when I was growing up. Unless you just cleaned every single day." She said, "Well, you loved Ozzie." That was the difference. And she did clean practically everyday.

2 comments:

justcurious said...

If not for the fact that you're tight with the cooks, I wouldn't hesitate at all in saying run, run for your life from the roaches. It does make a big difference, though, having the kitchen guys on your side, doesn't it? I remember my days of waiting tables (and can still visualize those stacks of oval, putty colored plates). It was a busy brunch/lunch kind of place which meant I dealt with not only tables of hungover, crabby (fill in the blank)s, say, fraternity guys, but a hungover, crabby cook as well. So the cook wouldn't want to move very fast. The guys wouldn't be happy with the state of their eggs. The cook would inform me that those mama's boys could go f*** themselves before he would cook their food again. It was enough to make me consider taking up lunchtime drinking.

Meanwhile, my requisite table of lovely old folks would be complaining because the coffee wasn't hot enough.

Once, after a lengthy meal that seemed to be very much to her satisfaction, a friendly, ancient lady left me a Canadian dime as my tip.

I'd have to say it was the most stressful job I've had to date. So, it's most impressive that you juggle all that you do with such humor and seeming grace (and you blog!?). Way to go.

All that said, you hate to not have at least the benefit of getting a good meal out of a restaurant job. I think I'd check out your friends' place.

Good luck.

ALF said...

If the cooks are nice to you, that's key.