Waffle House® Confidential ©2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Celestelle is an ordinary-seeming American white woman, about 50 years old. She's kind of tall but not outrageously so and just a little plump. She has a nice smile and a pleasant demeanor. She wears glasses and keeps her hair cut kind of short. On Monday at about noon she bellied up to the bar and ordered a large top-shelf margarita.
     Celestelle worked at Waffle House, the one over in Ashcroft Heights, off and on for 28 years. On this day she walked out during her shift. One of Celestelle's coworkers, Bonnie or Bunnie, Celestelle's not sure about the name, had gotten all up in her grill about something and it really pissed Celestelle off. It pissed her off so much that she stepped into the dry storage room to calm down. Celestelle won't tell what was said but it had to be pretty fucked up.
     Celestelle had been off the floor for about two minutes and only needed another minute or so before she'd be ready to smile and get back to work. Then Jeremy, the manager, knocked on the door. "I need you to get the hell out of there now!" he shouted. She did get the hell out of there and out of the building too. Jeremy had only commited a venal sin but it compounded the effects of Bunnie's mortal one and sent poor Celestelle out the door and into the arms of Jose Cuervo.
     Celestelle only had one (albeit large) cocktail. It calmed her down and cheered her up. She got out her cell phone and called Jeremy. He correctly guessed that she'd gotten into the tequila, although she was far from drunk. She told Jeremy she was still upset (by now that may have been untrue) and she'd come in the next day to get her tips and turn in her uniforms.
     Celestelle is very confident she'll be invited back to work at Waffle House. She's been there for years and has a lot of regulars. Besides serving, she can cook too. She's never been in trouble at work. She's pretty tight with the Area Manager. And she's kept her mouth shut about the fact that Bunnie and Jeremy are fucking.
     According to Celestelle—and this might be just her franchise group, she's not sure—Waffle House servers only get $2.13 an hour. That wage gets a nickle a year added to it but if you're a server there and leave, however briefly, all the accumulated nickles don't come back when you do. Every Waffle House employee has four dollars "meal money" deducted from their pay for each shift they work. That money is deducted from everyone's pay even if they don't eat anything. And guess what? Lots of items aren't available under the employee meal policy, especially the new ribeye that I've heard a lot of good things about.

Self-Indulgent Rambling c2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Damn! I had ideas for two separate Black History Month episodes of These American Servers and I didn't get around to actually writing either of them. I got kind of a good start on one. Perhaps I'll finish up and put it on here soon or maybe you'll get it next February.
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     Happy Birthday, Buckette!
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     Do you ever use words like cocksmack (thanky Cranky) and fucktard to describe clients you've formed a negative opinion of? Here's another epithet for your lexicon: johnson skull.
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     If I'm an elected member of a legislative body and I can thwart the agenda of my opponents by not showing up for work, guess what? I'm probably not showing up for work.
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     Now that I actually have some readers (again, thanky Cranky!), I thought I'd mention some ideas you might have missed that have been presented on These American Servers that I feel pretty good about.
)from "A Ducats Negotiation"
☻If you buy tickets from a scalper, get their cell phone number. I tried this at a sold out NHL game recently and it worked great!
)from "Ramblin' Joe Sixtop"
☻Try using the word clients, not guests, to refer to customers.
☺I just don't care for the word blog, so I'm an Internet Columnist, OK?!
)from "A Righteous Proposal"
☻Please discuss this concept with your friends. Of course, I'd like it if you'd mention These American Servers but, really I don't care if you tell everybody it's your mom's idea. If enough of us give up buying alcohol (or at least cut back signifigantly) we could probably force a change in the laws regarding recreational intoxicants.
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     If you've joined me at MySpace or Facebook or at "The Cool Kids' Table" or just glance at this crizzap from time to time, thanks, I really appreciate ya!
     Are you an internet columnist? Am I on your blogroll? If I am and you're not on mine, please let me know so I can fix you up. If I'm not on your blogroll, I'd like to be. I'm talkin' to you, Paul Krugman!
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     OK that's more than enough sef-indulgent rambling for two posts in a row. Look for some slightly more coherent restaurant adventures next time.

My Kind Words on Their Website ©2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Wow! One of my favorite restaurant bloggers wrote a post not long ago that was very favorable towards a concept called Freebirds where she'd recently eaten. Freebirds in turn reprinted what she'd written on their Facebook page. But it wasn't up for long because somebody took offense at the name of her internet column; it has a title some may consider to be vulgar. But apparently that brief little bit of pub got her lots of hits.
     Well, I want lots of hits too! I can't afford Freebirds so I usually go to Flirtin' With Disasters but last night I went to Red Robin®. It was my first visit and I gotta tell ya, it didn't suck. Our burgers were real good and according to my dining companion, so was the strawberry margarita. The prices weren't out of line with what you'd expect and our server took good care of us. We'll probably go back.
     According to Associated Press, Red Robin's business isn't sufficient to please the Wall Street community. But after a reasonably positive mention from Joe Sixtop, shares of Red Robin (ticker RRGB) might get upgraded to "buy" from "shitty." Now I just have to wait 'til they put my kind words on their website and I'll ride the RR train to fame and glory. Plus, These American Servers™ is a somewhat more family-friendly title than Fuck My Table is!
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     Skippy Mom, feel better soon, OK?!
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     If you follow These American Servers™ with any regularity (and why wouldn't you?), then you might be wondering what's up with my erstwhile coworkers, the "Four Guys From Guatemala." Arnulfo got another day job, so did Israel. Mahogany Rush and Señor Sunshine have decided to wait a few weeks before they even look. Remember, they have night jobs already, so it looks like everything's OK.
 ☻    Y'all have a good one for me.☺

Wallet Contretemps c2011 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     A fourtop rolled into my station the other night, three men and a woman. Everyone appeared to be in their late 20s. They sat in the bar area, near a TV, so they could watch the game. They all wanted draft beers. I recommended Yuengling 'cause I like it but they went with some wussy low calorie products. Just to be safe, I carded everyone.
     The guys produced their IDs no problem but the distaff member of the quartet didn't have hers. She had her purse but claimed to have left her wallet in the car. She seemed a little peeved when she received no dispensation. Before she headed out to fetch her license she told me, "I'll be back in just a minute so you can go ahead and bring my beer with theirs," killing the slight chance I might do that.
     They ate, drank and enjoyed the game. When it was over they asked for three checks; the lady paid for one of the gentlemen. The singletons each left me about seven on 30. Ms. Lady paid her $44 tab with a $20 gift certificate and her credit card. She left me four dollars. They headed for their nearby motel.
     That table didn't get sat again that night. As I was sweeping my station at close I spied my client's purse. She'd left it hanging on one of the chairs. I took it to the MOD who was taking liquor inventory. Chickie came back the next morning. Her purse wasn't in the office, where it should of been. I asked that day's MOD to unlock the booze barn. Guess what? There was the purse, right where the previous shift's manager had left it. My customer looked inside and expressed dismay when (she claimed) her wallet wasn't there. It wasn't there because I'd removed it from her purse and given it to a homeless woman who hangs out in my neighborhood.
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      So OK, that last part isn't true, it just felt good to write it. When the client couldn't find her wallet she started whining about how the wallet was the main thing she needed, it held her driving license and her credit card. Why, the purse didn't really do her any good without the wallet! She allowed as to how she might have left the wallet in the motel room or the car. Maybe she did.