There are some days that I really enjoy my job. Food's coming out on time, people are smiling and laughing, the kitchen staff has kept the pot use to a minimum (most likely because of circumstances beyond their control), so I don't have to repeat myself 12 times when I ask them a question, don't have to expo my own orders, things are steady but not overrun... the day in question was one of these. I was having a great hair day, had actually managed to smudge on some makeup on my mad dash out of the house, and had managed to make it halfway through my shift without a single hitch. I was manning the register in between waiting on my tables, and noticed an older (maybe 60ish), stooped little man trudging up to my counter in what appeared to be a cheaper, uglier version of a tan Members Only jacket. I greeted him, and asked him if he wanted to place an order to go, to which he icily replied that he wanted to dine in. I explained that he was free to seat himself at any of our tables, but offered with a strained smile to take his order if he was ready, since he'd already made the walk to the register. His order was spat at me on rancid breath between teeth that had seen better days - grouper tray and a diet drink (which he insisted on making himself because I just wouldn't make it right), and attempting to remain diplomatic, I assured him I'd bring it out to him as soon as it was ready.
True to my promise, when his food came up (after 10 or so minutes) I rushed it out to his table, asked if everything looked alright (it did) , and asked him if there was anything else I could get for him (there wasn't). I was halfway back to the kitchen when I heard a grating voice yell "Miss??" I stopped in my tracks and turned, to see him flailing his left arm like a 3rd grader in desperate need of a bathroom break. I forced a smile and walked back over, and asked how I could assist him. To which he responded that he had a problem, that we didn't give him enough food. I mentally assessed his plate - 5 pieces of grouper, a couple large handfuls of homemade chips, and a 3 oz. cup of cole slaw. I determined that he was incorrect, and explained that we gave the same amount of food to everyone, and if he'd like some more I'd be happy to help him order an additional tray. He gnashed his chartreuse tinged teeth at the inhumanity of it all (heavens to Betsy, order another TRAY? Has the world gone mad?!) and declined, opting instead to return to eating without further comment or explanation. The rest of his meal went without incident, he glared at me as I flew around the restaurant in a whirlwind of efficiency, bussing tables, refilling drinks (except for his, because clearly, I wasn't qualified), and taking orders, at slow points allowing myself to be engaged in small talk with people waiting for their take out orders. He finished up, and waved at me again, this time requesting a box to put the rest of his food in. I wanted to smile smugly as I fetched it for him and dropped off his ticket, but instead informed him that he could pay for his bill at the register at his convenience. He waited... and waited... and waited. Seemingly on purpose, for as soon as I stepped behind the register to give a coworker a break, he made a furious beeline for me. His meal came to a little over 9 dollars, and I waited as he counted out exact change. A bit of pastel on his palm caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to investigate - at which point things became weird. It was an almond. A jordan almond, to be exact, which unabashedly lay nestled in his palm sans wrapper next to a grey piece of fuzz and several dollars in change.
"You ever had one of those?"
"Uhh... yeah. At weddings, and things."
"Take it."
(At this point he's pushing his hand towards me, without a care for the old man treasures he was jostling about in his palm).
"I'd really rather not."
"Take it, I said!"
"(Geez...)Alright, fine. "
(I pick up the almond gingerly between thumb and forefinger and lay it to rest on counter, next to my register. I have no intention of putting it in my mouth at any point).
"Well, eat it!"
"I'm saving it."
"Well, alright."
(He sifts through the change in his hand, sorting until he finds 2 quarters. He puts the 2 quarters in my hand, mumbles, "There ya go" and walks away).
My tip was 50 cents and a jordan almond.
Which in turn has it's own set of dilemmas.
Does a jordan almond count as income, and if so, how do I claim it on my taxes?
Do I claim one tenth of the value of one jordan almond?
What is the exchange rate of jordan almonds to US Dollars?
Sheesh.
Somedays it's tough to be a waitress.
True to my promise, when his food came up (after 10 or so minutes) I rushed it out to his table, asked if everything looked alright (it did) , and asked him if there was anything else I could get for him (there wasn't). I was halfway back to the kitchen when I heard a grating voice yell "Miss??" I stopped in my tracks and turned, to see him flailing his left arm like a 3rd grader in desperate need of a bathroom break. I forced a smile and walked back over, and asked how I could assist him. To which he responded that he had a problem, that we didn't give him enough food. I mentally assessed his plate - 5 pieces of grouper, a couple large handfuls of homemade chips, and a 3 oz. cup of cole slaw. I determined that he was incorrect, and explained that we gave the same amount of food to everyone, and if he'd like some more I'd be happy to help him order an additional tray. He gnashed his chartreuse tinged teeth at the inhumanity of it all (heavens to Betsy, order another TRAY? Has the world gone mad?!) and declined, opting instead to return to eating without further comment or explanation. The rest of his meal went without incident, he glared at me as I flew around the restaurant in a whirlwind of efficiency, bussing tables, refilling drinks (except for his, because clearly, I wasn't qualified), and taking orders, at slow points allowing myself to be engaged in small talk with people waiting for their take out orders. He finished up, and waved at me again, this time requesting a box to put the rest of his food in. I wanted to smile smugly as I fetched it for him and dropped off his ticket, but instead informed him that he could pay for his bill at the register at his convenience. He waited... and waited... and waited. Seemingly on purpose, for as soon as I stepped behind the register to give a coworker a break, he made a furious beeline for me. His meal came to a little over 9 dollars, and I waited as he counted out exact change. A bit of pastel on his palm caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to investigate - at which point things became weird. It was an almond. A jordan almond, to be exact, which unabashedly lay nestled in his palm sans wrapper next to a grey piece of fuzz and several dollars in change.
"You ever had one of those?"
"Uhh... yeah. At weddings, and things."
"Take it."
(At this point he's pushing his hand towards me, without a care for the old man treasures he was jostling about in his palm).
"I'd really rather not."
"Take it, I said!"
"(Geez...)Alright, fine. "
(I pick up the almond gingerly between thumb and forefinger and lay it to rest on counter, next to my register. I have no intention of putting it in my mouth at any point).
"Well, eat it!"
"I'm saving it."
"Well, alright."
(He sifts through the change in his hand, sorting until he finds 2 quarters. He puts the 2 quarters in my hand, mumbles, "There ya go" and walks away).
My tip was 50 cents and a jordan almond.
Which in turn has it's own set of dilemmas.
Does a jordan almond count as income, and if so, how do I claim it on my taxes?
Do I claim one tenth of the value of one jordan almond?
What is the exchange rate of jordan almonds to US Dollars?
Sheesh.
Somedays it's tough to be a waitress.
1 comments:
Hmmm, strange currency, these almonds.
I love your blog! You write with great humor about such things, even though I know from experience they an be so aggravating.
Do you at least get minimum wage plus tips? I ask because one place I worked at the waitrsses only made half min. wage- which at that time made my hourly pay 2.15 or so! (That was about 9 years ago.) I think tips should be on top of regular pay, or else it defeats the purpose. Then you have the people who assume that you are making the same pay as all the other people (who are actually getting paid more than you!) so they feel they do not have to tip.
Waitresses everywhere- I salute you!
;)
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