Ice, Ice, Baby...Part Deux

So, I have this ice in my car, almost to the point of melting because I cannot find a parking spot. Then a wonderful idea popped into my head. Nobody would be occupying the four new motorcycle parking spots by the front entrance and I could park there temporarily. I was almost to the spots when the car in front of me stopped to let out their old mother at the door. I was fine with that as I waited patiently. A car zoomed up next to me in the oncoming lane and let out their old lady, who walked out in front of my vehicle. What do you know...that car moves right into the motorcycle spots...parking in the middle two, leaving no room for me. I was infuriated and parked in the furthest spot from the restaurant. I walked to the front of the building and by that time the woman was backing out of the spot. I had no clue what she was doing, but I was determined to run back to my vehicle and zoom up front of the building. I claimed the spots temporarily and asked another busboy to assist me in carrying the ice bags to the freezer. A Hispanic worker's help was solicited by my manager who asked the man to help carry the bags into the freezer. Apparently the man did not understand that my manager said "treinta" (thirty)...because he only carried "tres" (three) bags to the freezer and disappeared.

The rest of the day was hectic and when 3:00 rolled around I was ready to get out of that place. My replacement for the evening shift had arrived and I was determined to leave as soon as I cleaned two more tables. All of a sudden, the second busboy to arrive that day approached me asking where the morning closer was. I asked why and he replied that he needed to give him his clock-out slip. This infuriated me because I was the first one there that day and was supposed to leave first. I asked him why he was leaving and told him that he was not first in. He looked puzzled and insisted that he was first.

--"You were here before 9:45???"
--"No. I got here at normal opening time."
--"We opened early today, Jessie. I am first to go......just forget it."
--"Thanks!"

He left and luckily the second replacement came in earlier...so I was not stuck at the restaurant as long as I thought I would be. The thing I do not understand about his logic for leaving first was the fact that if he WERE opener...why did he not cut more lemons and scoop butter? Did he think that some magical fairy came in the evening and did all of his opening work for him? This boy is confused. Whenever we were in the manager's office, I asked him to follow me to the front of the restaurant and he replied "OK!" as he sat down. What is this world coming to?

Ice, Ice, Baby

Mothers make the world go round...which is why every mother in Owensboro was treated to lunch at Texas Roadhouse on Sunday morning. I was scheduled as opener for the day, a 9:45 am, which is an hour earlier than I usually arrive at work on Sunday mornings. Considering that Mother's Day is the busiest day of the year for my place of employment, I was in charge of scooping extra butter portions and slicing more lemons. Needless to say, these tasks took me a bit longer than usual. Just as I was about to finish with my opening work, my boss approached me and asked if I would run an errand for him. The brand new ice machine had decided to break on the busiest day. I quickly took the $50 to Wal*Mart and stood at the ice chest trying to calculate how much ice I could buy with the cash. I assumed that 12 bags would suffice and loaded it into the cart. My purchase was made and I quickly returned to work before I flooded my trunk with melted ice. Once I got to work I parked near the door because not many guests were at the restaurant at the moment. Servers came out to my vehicle to unload the large bags of ice and I went inside to grab a quick drink. Then I returned to my Jeep to move it back across the street to the employee parking lot. As soon as I had parked and entered the restaurant, the manager approached me again and asked for me to purchase double what I had during my first trip, this time at Sam's Club with his membership card. I walked BACK across the road to my vehicle and made my way to the store. I found the ice chest at Sam's and retrieved two flatbed carts to stack large ice bags on. 30 bags was what I could purchase for $100 and I proceeded to the checkout. The cashier took my boss's membership card and the register rang up as "Card must be renewed." What was I supposed to do? I only had $100 to purchase ice and renewal my boss's card would set me back $35. I quickly decided to charge the renewal fee to my own credit card and have my boss reimburse me, which is what he did upon my return to a hectic restaurant. Then I had the issue of transporting the ice into the restaurant which I will discuss in next week's blog!

Slashed Tires & Hands

Last night was another tiring evening at the ol' Roadhouse. I was planning a night off from the stresses of school, but a fellow busboy implored me to work for him, offering $15 to do so. Right after school and before work, I had to run to the "Stand Against Child Abuse" demonstration that Beta Club was participating in. While standing on the courthouse corner an old man approached my group and gave a angered expression. He looked at us for the longest time and then exclaimed "You know...lots of adults are being abused too! And you know that once the sperm meets the egg, anyone who tries to get rid of it is a murderer!" We told him that our demonstration was not calling the attention away from the other causes. His wife finally came out of the courthouse and pulled him away from us. I made my way to work and decided that it was going to be a good evening because of the many greetings that I got when I walked through the door. That is when all of the disasters began. The restaurant was packed and nobody was getting up, which went our wait would increase. I hurried along, cleaning every table I saw available. I felt like the only one working. By the end of the evening, I had only one busboy with me, and even he was not much help because he was sick. I could not wait to get out of there. Finally, my evening was brightened by a server. She approached me with a large smile on her face. "Chaz, since you are working tonight, I have had more tables than I have had in the past month." Later that evening, my boss approached me and said that he had a strange question for me.

--"Chaz, is it true that you save all of your tip money?"
--"Yes, why?"
--"Well Chris (the head manager) told me that he really respects you for your being responsible with money."

Compliments such as these really make me strive for my best in what I do.

Later that evening as I was preparing to leave at 12:00, a fellow busboy entered the manager's office in his casual clothing.

--"Chris, I had two tires slashed this evening in the parking lot. I just thought that I would let you know so that you could report it. Thanks."

I really hate that for the guy because he is a nice guy. I do not know why anyone would do that to a guy like him. Earlier, a server had something slashed of his own: his hand. He was using the metal paddle to break apart ice in the ice machine and his hand slipped. The paddle cut directly to the bone. Needless to say, he went to the hospital. Apparently the paddle had been sharpened and bent over time when hit by the ice. I was glad to leave that evening.

Roadie Meets Benjamin

I really do not enjoy closing at work, especially on a Friday evening. This past Friday I found myself the last busboy in for the evening. The day had already been long: early Key Club meeting, National Spanish Exam, lots of homework, Spanish tutoring right after school, followed by work. What's worse is that all of the guys I was working with that evening were lazy, slow, or a combination of both. I made a strong effort to quickly clean tables so that I would be permitted to send guys home sooner, thus grabbing a bigger portion of the tip-out pot. One good thing was that we were short a busboy because he was out for back surgery (not-so-good). Another plus was that the guy I picked up the Friday closing shift for paid me $30 just to come into work. The night was going swell, since my friend that I never see anymore was working that evening and I was able to talk with him in slower times. That evening, the servers seemed to be more careless than ever. Glasses were breaking all around me and I scrambled to clean up the messes. As I swept peanut dust near the end of my shift, the boss approached me with a stern look upon his face. He held out three time slips exclaiming that the teens had worked over 5 hours without breaks. This is against the law and entails a $1,000 fine if caught. Two of the guys were only 5 minutes over each, one who I had told to leave 8 minutes prior. So, I got scolded for nothing considering that it was "my responsibility" to ensure that all had their breaks if necessary. After 6 hours of fun and frivolity, I fled the restaurant with nearly $100 for the evening. I could not imagine having a better job at this age.

Awesome as a Blossom

This past week I worked a lot more than usual. I know that five days may not seem like a lot of time to invest in work, but when you put school, homework, and club responsibilities on top of that, things can get hectic. Thursday was my first night off for this week, so I decided to take my girl out...to Texas Roadhouse. Right before going to eat we had a friendly game of bowling (I won). Dinner was great, but it was a weird feeling knowing that I would have to come in for the biannual server assistant meeting. I finished my dinner and headed to the mall with Erica to look around. We returned to Roadhouse for my 9:30 meeting and Erica insisted in staying in the car. I hated the idea of having a meeting because the last meeting lasted over an hour longer than expected. After waiting a good 15 minutes for the meeting to start, I smelled a wonderful aroma. The manager had brought in appetizers for our consumption. Sadly, I was still stuffed from my meal earlier and refrained from eating any more greasy bacon, cheese fries and cactus blossoms. The meeting began and the boss went on this long rant about employ apathy. He told us that the servers did not care about us or our home lives, so we should not bring in any raw emotions. Suddenly the boss made a turn to a more positive note.

"Servers really do not care about you guys. But to tell you the truth, servers come up to me all of the time and compliment Chaz saying 'Chaz is so helpful. His work-ethic is like no other. He is amazing.'"

At this I was not shocked, but deeply surprised at its inclusion in the meeting in front of 12 other young guys. Some were jealous, but bore no harsh feelings. The meeting ended and I returned to my car to find this girl resting in the back seat.

Is Your Vur-Jan-It-Y Worth $10?

Do people you work with ever get on your last nerve...so much that you experience a momentary glitch in your typical character? I walked into work on Sunday evening after having switched with another busboy my coveted opening position to pre-closer. When I came around the corner of the kitchen I heard the same ol', horrendous cackle. "Oh, boy...he is here" I thought to myself. After making eye contact with him the compliments toward me began flowing. "Chaz, I think your beard is awesome. I wish I had an awesome beard like that. You are so funny, Chaz. You crack me up." I knew that he wanted something. It was not long until the nuisance approached me and asked if I could do him a huge favor. I hesitantly asked for his request and he exclaimed to me that he needed me to work for him on Saturday so that he could chill with his gal pal. I am certain that he saw the look of disgust on my face because he quickly offered to pay me for my kindness. I agreed to work for him on Saturday morning in the closing spot. Now I was hesitant for two reasons: 1) Nobody comes in to eat on Saturday mornings so tips would be significantly lower. 2) The people that come in on Saturday mornings have kids that eat for free so that brings in even fewer tips for busboys. Essentially I was trying to do him a favor because it always seemed to be an inconvenience for me during the prior times that he had asked me. I proceeded to tell him that I was willing to do it for $10. All of a sudden this expression of disgust comes across his face and he exclaims

--"$10?!?! I do not have that kind of money! I have car insurance to pay!"
--"I do too, buddie. $10 is nothing."
--"Chaz, come on. How about $5?"
--"It costs me $3 in gas to drive here in the first place."
--"Just take $5."
--"I said $10."
--"I do not have that kind of money. I am poor."
--"Is your girlfriend not worth $10?"
--"I just do not have that kind of money at the moment."
--"You will after you get your tips this evening. I said $10."
(40 minutes of arguing later)
--"Ok, Chaz. I will make you a deal. $3 to get here and $3 to get home. PLUS $2 on top of that. What do you say?"
--"Man, I said $10...take it or leave it."
--"How about $8.25?"
--"I am NOT dropping my price. I typically charge $20 but I am trying to do you a favor."
--"Ok, let me think my financial status over."
(10 minutes pass)
--"Ok, Chaz. If I pay you $10 will you cover my shift?"
--"I am done with this ridiculous argument. So, the final answer is NO."

The guy punched the wall and exclaimed that I should not lead him on like I was planning on doing it, but to just say "no" in the first place. He obviously did not realize that I was trying to help.

Later that evening after he had called me a jerk, he asked me if I wanted to walk out to our cars together so that he did not lose his "vur-jan-it-y" to some creep in the night. I reluctantly agreed, but as I was leaving I noticed that he was in pursuit of speaking to the boss. I made a mad dash for the door and ran to my vehicle, looking back every twenty feet or so. Thank goodness I escaped THAT experience.

One Lazy Muck

I do not think that I can go into work without feeling like I am in a different world. This past Wednesday I went into work to find that half of the kitchen had been remodeled. The walls were clad with stainless steel and many of the shelving units had been replaced with brand new ones. The most shocking piece of new machinery was the new muck table. Let me define "muck" for people who may not understand the concept or why my blog is its namesake. "Muck" is the location or table that dirty dishes are piled on in order to be scraped of their contents and stacked for the amigos to wash. This new muck table looked as if it were ready for an embalming, with a large drain and pipe leading from the bottom of the inclined edges. Not only was the table smaller than the previous one, I simply did not like the disorder that would result from a smaller workspace. My job seems to get less and less productive with all of these new implemented procedures. I guess it is not up to me to make decisions on whether work procedures are productive or not; I am only a busboy.

I still find many of my fellow busboys to be lazy bums. How is it that I manage to find three dirty tables in five seconds when I arrive in a section of the restaurant that a busboy has been lazily standing in that section for the previous ten minutes? Either apathy is growing with each generation, or they honestly do not understand the value of hard work. Even when the morning closer busboy collects tip money from the servers, he should continue cleaning tables. Because the morning closer for Sunday did not continue cleaning tables while he collected money, we fell behind in our work and I was unable to leave until thirty minutes past when I should have left. Although this angered my, I felt that it was a somewhat of a good thing considering that I earned an extra thirty minutes of pay that I would not have made had I left on time. I try to work as hard as I can to prove my value to a company/organization and help that company prosper as much as possible.

I've Got To Hand It To You...You Cost Too Much

One of the strangest things that happened this week was the result of an accident. While cleaning a table (the typical work task) I heard a large crash of dishes in the kitchen. I did not think much of it because broken dishes are typical on a Sunday afternoon. As I carried my full bus tub back to the kitchen to be cleaned I saw that one of my friend's hands was bleeding profusely. I asked him what had happened, but quickly drew my own conclusions; the loud crash must have been a plate smashing against his hand and then upon the floor. After seeing the large gash in his hands I ventured to say that he needed stitches. The manager agreed and he was driven to the hospital where they gave him five stitches. He was required to return to work and fill out paperwork for his on-site accident. When he left for the day I remarked "Well, at least you do not have to work for the rest of the week."
Other than that event, nothing strange happened. Hostesses made me mad by continuously hounding me about "Could you go to this table???...How about this one???...or THAT one." They have no right to boss me around. I just wanted to say "I want YOU to clean that table." I guess it is part of the job.
Somehow I got weaseled into working Friday night. I received a phone call at 4:15 from an anonymous number. Here is how the conversation began when I answered.

--"Hello?"
--"Dude! I have the runs! I cannot work! I have the runs really bad, dude."
--"Ummm, first of all, who is this?"
--"Bob, from Roadhouse. And I have the runs really bad. I cannot work. Will you work for me?"
--"Well, what time are you?"
--"5:00"
--"Ok, I guess I can work for you."
--"Awesome, I will pay you. You work Sunday?"
--"Yes, I do. That will be fine with me."

As you can tell, "Bob" discussed no amount of money he was willing to pay so I decided that I would set my price of working a Friday night at $20. When I saw Bob on Sunday he approached me and said "Here. I will give you everything that is in my wallet." He handed me $7. I smiled and said "That's good...you can put the other $13 in my tip box after this shift." He returned the facial expression and said "Dude, you are expensive." He thought I was joking; I could tell. When I left that morning I reiterated "Yes, $13 after this shift. Thanks!" Again, he did not know what to say except complain about how much I charge. Next time I go into work there better be an additional $13 in my tip envelope.

Margarita, Mop, and Motion in the Ocean/Bathroom/Truck/Take Your Pick

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, I think that I will reminisce on my experience at work last Valentine's Day. Just to warn you, the following subject matter may be not be appropriate. Please use discretion in continuing your reading of this blog.

Sadly I had to work last year on Valentine's Day. While cleaning a table I was approached by a waitress who explained that there was a broken margarita glass near the bar. I prepared to clean up the spill, placing some dry towels over the mess and wiping up the spilled ice. A gruff voice whispers in my ear "Why don't you get a f*cking mop? *laugh*" I turn around to see some strange, 40-something year old customer looming over me and he slowly began to walk away. I do not know about you, but I found his comment inappropriate. What business was it for him to tell me what to do?

The next strange thing that happened occurred during my break. As usual, I ventured to the employee parking lot across the road in order to chill in my car for thirty minutes, just to get away from the chaos. After about five minutes a flashing light catches my eye from my rear-view mirror. I glance up to see that the reflection was coming from a large, mud-covered truck that was parked behind me; the truck was rocking back and forth. It did not take me but four seconds to realize what was going on. But what should I do? Do I stay in the car and hope that the lovers do not notice my awkward situation? Or should I discreetly make my way back across the road and into the restaurant? Too late, the two must have noticed me for the motion had ceased and the truck quickly sped away. Good thing that situation was over.

As the evening drew to a close, I decided to head to the restroom while waiting for parties to leave the restaurant. As I was...uh...standing there in the restroom I heard the restroom door open and a loud commotion. Undeniably there was a man's voice and a woman's giggle. The lock to the stall latched shut and there was some more random commotion (zips/unzips, buckles, etc.) I feel that I do not have to comment any more, but I quickly washed my hands and exited the restroom.

Thankfully, Valentine's was on the Lord's Day this year.
Jesus is watching.

"Garçon, will'st thou pluck the glass from mine dentures?"

Friday evening I went out on a date with my hot lady friend (just don't tell Erica) to Texas Roadhouse. I dropped her off at the door to get a table and I circled the parking lot several times earnestly trying to find a spot. When I finally found one nearly a mile away I was unable to park in it because someone else was pushing his idled car into an adjacent spot. After waiting a good five minutes I entered the nearly empty lobby of the restaurant and found said lady friend sitting on a bench. When I inquired the wait she said that it would be an hour and twenty minutes. I could not see how the wait could be so long. I humbly agreed to wait and began talking to the elderly ladies that were complaining next to me.

--"How could the wait be so long!?!? They said that ALL of the call-aheads would be seated ahead of us even though they are not even here yet."
--"Ma'am, I work here..."
--"OH YOU DO!?"
--"Yes, and I do not know why the wait is so long. It's only 5:00, nobody is in the lobby, and we have a whole new section (about 13 more tables) to seat."

About that time the main hostess looks up and waves at me. She quickly motions me to the stand and seats us.

--"If I had know that you were here you would not have had to wait even those ten minutes."

We were promptly seated with the best server there and the food was the best I had ever had there.

So, I figure that my job has some perks.


Not much happened at work this Sunday. Just a matter of breaking dishes and cleaning up messes.

A server approached me and explained that someone had broken a glass in the ice machine. I knew that this meant "Chaz, get your butt over there and clean it up." I groaned at the idea of cleaning out all of the ice, a process that can take around twenty minutes. I filled a bus tub of ice and took it to the sink basin to melt the ice with hot water. While melting, I thought that I stuck my finger on some glass and quickly released the water hose to grab my finger. The hose began flailing hot water in the air and all over me. I jumped to turn the faucet off, but by the time I did I was completely soaked. The event was greeted with much laughter and light-hearted jokes.


Customer Punchline of the WEEK!!!

A waitress dropped a bowl of baked beans in front of a large party. I quickly scrambled over to the table to help clean up the mess. An old lady leans over and whispers into my ear "I guess she spilled the beans." *ensuing, geriatric cackles*

Flirting With Fat Carbs

I think that I shall begin on a serious note. Today, while cleaning a table near the new section of the restaurant (opening tomorrow--may decrease waiting time to 149 hours for call-ahead) I watched this large party (as in "many kids" not "large appetites"). It was an African American family who had just been to church and was going out for some Sunday lunch. This made me think about how society has changed so much in the past couple of decades. Nearly five decades ago it would have been unthinkable for a white person to wait on a black, much less his or her entire family. Seeing good will among people of different races is a remarkable thing. Yet, I realize that the human race has far to go for racial equality outside of Owensboro, KY.

The other night (Wednesday to be exact) I was called by a fellow busboy to see if I would switch shifts that evening. I told him that I had just been released from school and that I was already on my way to work. I could sense the frustration in his voice and asked him why he needed to be off early. He told me that he had a IB Biology exam the next day and that he did not have much opportunity to study. I insisted that he let me work at 3:45, but let him go home before me and I would work until 10:30 closing. Luckily I had a few good laughs to keep myself in good spirits.

The first was, once again, while I was cleaning a table. Eavesdropping as I normally do, I heard this mid-20-something guy talking about his health. He was explaining to this girl (his date, I assume) about how rigorous his exercise schedule was and flexed his muscles to impress the lady friend. He began to talk about how he avoided carbs and explained why. Here is his explanation:

"So, I try to avoid carbs because they are like bad for you. And I think they are some kind of fat. Yeah, carbs MUST be fat because people get fat when they eat a lot of them, you know, fat carbs. Fat is the most concentrated source of energy in the body, so that means that carbs store about 9 calories per gram."

I know that I am just a busboy working at Texas Roadhouse, but I am also a student that just completed Anatomy & Physiology and is currently in AP Bio. I know that carbohydrates and fats are two completely different macromolecules. At least he was on the right track in that fat stores about 9 calories per gram. Did I mention that the guy was wearing a Princeton hoodie? I am assuming that he does not go there.

The same evening I got hit on by two middle-aged ladies. Maybe "hit on" is not the right term, but "flirting" definitely is. The two ladies were part of a party of about ten other women who sat there ALL evening long and made such a mess of their table. After the rest of the ladies left the restaurant, the two women were standing in their long fur coats and dangling earrings next to the table. I began to clean the table so that I could get out of there at a decent hour and I heard them whispering back and forth. I turn around and they giggled. The woman of African-American persuasion remarked "OH! We jus' luv the back o' yo shirt. Do you rully luv yo job?"



I replied with a smile "I sure do! It is the best way for me to earn money."

--"So, do you get tuh pick whut shirt you wanna wear on a shift?"

--"Yes, whatever shirt is clean."

--"Why didn' them othuh suhvers wear that same shirt tuhnight? Don't they luv their job too?"

--"Not tonight."

For some reason that remark on my part took the cake. The two ladies bent over with laughter and persisted in saying "You's so funny! I like you! You have a wuhndaful evenin' sweetie! We come back 'n' visit ya sometime." I think they had a little too much to drink.

Other than hitting my head on a couple of hanging lights while cleaning tables and imagining bugs climbing on my head when it was really a pull string to a neon light, nothing else happened.

Oh, I <3 my job.

Well, where to begin this week? How about three shifts ago?

Sunday is typically the most interesting day of the week because you never know WHAT is going to happen. As I stood waiting for a large party to get up from their table I took the opportunity to look around the restaurant to see what sorts of people were out and about. Four little kids (about three to four years old) quickly scuffled from a "potty break" and could not help but get my attention with their loud squeals and giggles. As they climbed into the booth ready to resume eating their free kids meals I turned my head for a second to check the status of the dirty table. Glancing back I noticed that one kid was wildly waving a fork around, sort of like an orchestra conductor waves his or her baton. Before the thought fully processed in my mind I heard a small cry gradually grow into a savage cry. Yep, the little girl's pal had poked her in the eye. The parents just sat in their seats shaking their heads. What's the deal with that? The little girl was bawling from being poked in the eye with a utensil, yet the parents did not respond in an alarmed manner. Those sorts of things must happen all the time.

Attempting to get away from the chaos of the dining area, I took my bus tub back to the kitchen in order to "muck" (verb: "to clean") the contents out. While standing in "muck" (noun: "place where one mucks") I happened to look over at the "amigos" (political correctness at its finest) who were conversing with their rapid lexicon of vulgarisms. I could not but laugh about the new one. He, near forty in age and very obscene toward non-Spanish speakers (unaware that I know a thing or two), began talking about the seventeen year-old, pregnant silverware roller. Out of nowhere he asked the girl:

--"So, are you single?"

--"I have a boyfriend."

--"That's cool." (then aside) "Eres muy bonita...muy, MUY bonita."

As if the "relationship" conversation between a middle-aged Hispanic man and a girl twenty-three years his junior were not bad enough, I could not believe what happened next. The amigo picked up a large, plastic container to be placed on the lower shelf of the silverware rolling station. As he bent over his face came but six inches from her buttocks. Even MORE awkward was the fact that he continued looking for a good fifteen seconds (and yes, I timed it). Once he had finished his feat of perversion he returned to his fellow compadres and responded "buen culo" (which I cannot translate into English for censorship reasons, BUT I think you get the idea).

Now that I have gone from forks to butts in a matter of two paragraphs, I can now talk about some things that I do not understand.

A) Why would anyone want a bus boy to do them a favor?

Ok, I know that bus boys are convenient at Roadhouse when the server is nowhere to be found and I am certainly glad to help, but why on Earth would one want a bus boy to get them a to-go box, beverage refill, or clean bread plates? Do people not realize what the last thing a bus boy touched was? It could be anything from honey mustard to rib bones, chicken fat to beer-soaked napkins on the floor. And although I frequently wash my hands, I cannot assure that they are sanitary enough to help out the customer. Nonetheless, the continue to wave down the guy with the garbage-filled bucket in his hands.

B) Why do people not tip well on Sundays?

A family of four had just been served their food when they received an emergency phone call. They asked their server for to-go boxes, cups, and their ticket. The server quickly dropped all of his other obligations to his other tables to quickly get the family on the road. When he returned to the table upon their leaving he noticed that they had left a mere $1.17 on a $40 tab. On top of that, kids meals are free on Sundays. So, off of a would-be $50, the server earned roughly 2.9%. For people working to support their kids on a company hourly wage of $2, every extra dollar is stretched. The fear of having to become a server is a main contributor to my college aspirations.

C) What is with the weird things people leave on the tables?

Simply, here is a list of the most common things left on the table when a family leaves:

1) To-Go boxes

2) cellphone

3) keys

4) hand sanitizer

5) glasses

6) "Plop, plop, fizz, fizz"

7) prescription meds

8) dirty diapers

9) Happy Meal toys

10) shredded photo of boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse

Week of 1/11/10

Life at the ol' Roadhouse proves to be an adventure in itself; each time I go into work I do not know what to expect.

This past Sunday four elderly women were enjoying a nice get-together. As I cleaned the booth adjacent to theirs I heard one of the group members complaining about the heat and not feeling well. Their waitress asked if the woman was alright and she replied "I think so." About fifteen minutes passed and when I walked near the table once again I noticed that there was a atmosphere of anxiety. The woman held her hand over her eyes and shook her head. I promptly reported the incident to a head server who notified the 9-1-1 operator. The EMTs entered the restaurant, ran some preliminary tests, and placed the woman on a gurney. She was wheeled through the restaurant, interrupting the line dance taking place in order to exit the building into the awaiting ambulance. Her friends finished their meals and left in a hurry. I came to find that the woman was simply suffering from heat exhaustion. I attribute the excessive heat to the current state of renovation of the restaurant. The previous days had been very cold in the restaurant as the new roof was being put on, therefore the heat had been cranked up more than usual.

Other occurrences this week were not as elaborate, but filled with pestering details. First of all, the young girls that work in the lobby put the first two letters in "hostess." Aside from their flirtatious nature, most of them do not know the definition of work ethic and expect to get paid for a minimal amount of work. Always complaining and always seating customers at tables before they are entirely clean, I often wonder where their sense of logic wandered. What customer wants to arrive at a table to see what the person before them was eating? Macaroni and uneaten prime rib fat anyone? I find it quite amusing that the hostesses are now required to greet customers at the door and find out how many people are in their party, simply because they regard this as a "hard, manual labor."

It is not only hostesses that complain, but customers as well. Recently this "larger" family came in to our restaurant on one of our busiest days. Because of the large crowds it was difficult keeping silverware readily available for hostesses to carry to the customers' tables. The family called their server over to the table and complained that they did not receive silverware as soon as they were seated and therefore they were entitled to a free appetizer. Reluctantly, the manager gave in. Why could they not understand that the situation was the same for the rest of our customers, yet they did not request a free appetizer? Soon after, I received an order ticket for a baby blossom to be delivered to table #331. As I rounded the kitchen corner I realized that this table was the "problem table" and that they already had a baby blossom.

--"Did you all order a second onion blossom, sir?"

--"No, but we will sure take it!"

--"Fat chance," I thought to myself.

I also got a chuckle from these two middle-aged couples that came into the restaurant the other night and were seated in an area of the restaurant with an air vent above. The four began to carry on a conversation about "a cold draft from an unknown origin" for about five minutes.

--"Do you feel that Margaret?"

--"I sure do! It feels like a draft"

--"Yeah, I feel it too."

--"A draft dear?"

--"Yes, a draft."

--"Where is it coming from?"

--"I do not know where it is coming from."

--"I do not either, but I feel it."

--"Yes, definitely."

--"But where could it be coming from? Do you know, honey?"

--"I sure don't."

--"Do you all want to move to another table?"

--"No, it is fine. I can just bear the cold the whole time."

--"Are you sure?"

--"I am sure."

--"Positive? Because I can get us another table."

--"Let's do that. I cannot bear this draft any more."

--"Is the draft really that bad?"

--"I think so. Do you think so Margaret?" ...

Oh, the adventures of working in the food business.