Lonesome Joe Sixtop ©2013 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Thank you for visiting These American Servers™, America's premier restaurant-centric internet column (OK, server blog) to be presented by a guy named Joe, at least as far as I'm aware. And as to the afore-mentioned internet, the search engine terms (SETs) for today's installment include: Tim Hudson injury—and even after this weekend's disappointing series in Atlanta, I hate that happened—Gold Cup Final, Cyclospora, 孫旗 (a subject I'm not conversant on but that a lot of Chinese people seem to be interested in), rock's all-time greatest frontman Mick Jagger and Siohvaughn Funches. I'm not keeping up with the dispute she's having with NBA standout Dwayne Wade 'cause I don't care and it's none of my business and according to Google Trends she's dropped off their charts, yet remains in our hearts. Well, mine anyway. Whatever else Ms. Funches may be about—and I'm being serious here—she deserves mad props for having that world-class great name!
     And speaking (or more accurately, typing) of restaurant-centric internet columns, if you work as a server in North America, you probably have one and it's better than These American Servers. If you work with servers and bartenders but aren't one, you're a dishwasher, say, or a cook, door whore, manager or barback, you probably don't have one. What's up with that?
     Now where was I trying to go there? Oh, yeah. If you have a server blog, do you ever get any weird little synchronicities with it? It's happened with me, more than twice. Like one time, I was in the early stages of composing something about working with a lot of people from south of the United States and before I was finished there was a bit of labor unrest involving most of my Latino co-workers ("Four Guys from Guatemala," January, 2011) from that job.
     Another time, I was a mere couple of days away from trying to entertain y'all with some of my thoughts on the subject of auto-grat ("Mandatory Gratuicide," January, 2011) when some unpleasantness arose at work concerning that policy ("A Tanya Fiasco," January, 2011, a month where I was really ballin' with my little project here apparently). I could go on with more examples but that's enough for the present.
     Right now I want to see if I can maybe harness the theoretical power of these perceived coincidences by mentioning some things I'd like to have happen.(and yes, I'm totally aware that even in the very unlikely event that these are anything more than just some random coincidences that it probably doesn't work like that). For example, I'm kind of lonesome here lately and I'd like to get myself a righteous new girlfriend. Also, I want to win some insanely fat lottery prizes and I can't help but feel like the latter could definitely facilitate the former. Plus, I think I should  go and get myself another night job, something kinda awesome this time, please! Least likely of all—but what the hey, I'm kind of on a roll here—a substantial increase  in traffic for These American Servers would probably cheer me up some. Please stick around with my struggling internet column and I'll try and keep ya updated with any good news.
     Anyway and as always, thanks for reading and please feel free to share your thoughts on these or any other sixtopics in the comments section, via email, on Facebook or, if those lousy California bastards ever remove the totally unjustified (I swear!) cock-block they done put on me (yeah, really), Twitter @JoeSixtop.

     From a few of weeks later: Twitter removed the totally unjustified cock-block just a couple of days after they hit me with it. @JoeSixtop. Thank you.

Like Acid and Oil on a Madman's Face ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     If you sit in my station or read These American Servers™, you'll experience at least one commonality among the two activities: all you'll perceive are some mediocre results and not how much I put into either endeavor. That isn't to say I put in a lot or anything, just more than people who might momentarily ponder the subject probably think. Not so much today's installment, though. I've always come up with at least one rough draft of each episode before I serve it up to ya and this one's no different. But I'm devoting just a little less time and effort to this baby. There're reasons for that. I'll probably share 'em with y'all in future episodes. Just so ya know.
     ANYWAY, I just started a new PM gig—again, more on that (maybe) in future editions of These American Servers!—my third in that time slot this year. It's cool; I needed a job and they were kind enough to hire me. Like your manager kept saying ad nauseum back in about 2007 or so, it is what it is. You never know what situations &/or opportunities might arise but for now I plan to hang onto this at least 'til midwinter.
     Tonight ended the end of my first full week out of training here. I was assigned what they consider a power station. It's got a fourtop, two deuces and a table that'll easily seat up to ten adults. "Joe," my manager grinned, "do ya think you're ready for that badass section?" I assured her that I did think so and that I'd do my best.
     A 15 rolled in. Eleven of them went to my big table. The other four were put at two deuces in another waiter's station. They should have been seated at my open fourtop but that's not my call to make. The five little children in the party all went to my table. So did the one person in the group I disliked on sight: the scowling individual who looked like ghetto Troy Polamalu with a bad attitude (he turned out to be a pleasant, easy-going sort and my bad for being judgmental).
     Everybody seemed pretty cool. They ran me some but nothing outside of what you should normally expect if you're a server. Nobody was an A-hole and my co-worker who shared the party with me and I were gratified to see that our group seemed to enjoy themselves and their dining experience. Oh yeah, and we were told up front that it'd all be one check.
     When they were done and the ticket was requested, I had to hunt down a manager to consolidate the tables onto one check. This was done. Everything was now on my sever number. The total bill—only one beer was ordered and remember, five of them were kids—was $182.53. I gave the check to the woman who asked for it. She took it to a gentleman who was obviously well into Social Security age and they perused it. From what I overheard, they were looking for mistakes, made by my co-worker or me. I don't have a problem with that; nobody's perfect. Just don't glare up at me like I'm some kind of bad guy out to fuck you over while you're doing your ciphering. They didn't glare or uncover any errors.
     Ms. Lady gave me the presenter with the ticket for $182.53 and two crisp hundred-dollar bills. "I'll be right back with your change," I smiled, thinking I'd at least be told that wouldn't be necessary and pretty hopeful that someone might cough up a couple of fives or something on top of it.
    But instead, she chirped, "OK," so I made the change, put it into the server book and gave it to her, then disappeared into the kitchen. I hadn't discussed it with jones who'd waited on about 30% of the party with me but I'd already decided that, come what may, I'd give him half of whatever we got and just pay all the taxes and tipout myself. Fuck it.
     They slowly got up, stretched, gathered up their stuff and the kids and departed. About that time, I strolled out of the kitchen. The woman who'd paid caught my eye, smiled big and pointed to the server book on the table. A moment later, they were gone. I looked into the check presenter. It contained a whopping eight bucks. It was kind of a slow night and my tentop never got sat again.