Bartenders Beware! ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Bartenders beware! There’s this new computer program out that’s linked to your POS register and the beer kegs at your establishment. It lets bosses know every time you pour and/or ring up a draft beer. That’s not good, but it’s their product and I can’t blame them too much for tracking it, especially being as how some beertenders do seem to be a little overly generous with a product that really isn’t theirs and has heretofore been pretty easy to pull some shenanigans with. The real sinister part of it to me is that this thing alerts the powers-that-be—all else being done to spec—if you pour a beer first and then ring it up afterwards, even if the second action follows the first in the mere blink of an eye, as it usually does.  
      A trainer I know from the New England area told me about it. Apparently the draft beer costs at her store were off the chain so management implemented this system. I hear that their draft costs have dropped precipitously, coupled with an alarming rise in product shrinkage on the liquor side of things. We don’t have this system at my store and, unless your registers and draft apparatus are less than three years old, you don’t have it at yours either. I have it on good authority that no stores in our franchise groups have it, even the newest ones.
      In case you’re wondering, there’re reasons for the ring-before-you-pour rule. Mostly, it’s to keep even the integritous (as I believe most ‘stauranties are) from pouring something, without bad intentions, and then becoming distracted and honestly forgetting to charge for it and that’s who I’m warning here. If you’re one of those who consistently give 2-4-1 when it isn’t Happy Hour or “refresh” the half-finished suds of your regulars, I want you to stop that shit right now or at least immediately after I get through drinking at your bar. When you do underhanded shit like that and I work after you do, most of the more fucktarded clients, instead of being cool like they should be under the circumstances, get all johnsonskulled and entitled-acting about it and see me as a bad guy and I don’t like it!
     I try and follow the rules. Pretty much, anyway. And usually I ring before I pour, as I’m supposed to. But the rich white college boys who’ve never actually, you know, worked in a restaurant that are behind this brewski surveillance have gone too far. Sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. While everyone strives to keep it to a minimum, sometimes a trustable server (this program works on all sides of the taps, including the service bar) will desperately cry out for a draft they really need before it’s rung up, for whatever reason, and promise to ring it up ASAP with the “NO MAKE” modifier tacked on and who am I to shut them out? If everything gets properly paid for and the clientele is happy, then we’ve done our jobs and should have nothing to fear.
     But there’s a slight silver lining to this cloud of bovine cabins. As a trainer, I’m supposed to make sure that everyone I’m showing the proverbial ropes to always hits “REVIEW” after they’ve rung in their orders but before sending them. I stress this to them because I’m supposed to and because I think it’s a good practice. I usually do it on my own orders and occasionally catch a mistake. Most of my co-workers don’t use the “SUMMARY” (or whatever) key. I don’t say anything, I’m not their boss and pretty much they know what they’re doing. But today this newbie that I didn’t train, not even one shift, had a couple of questions about something he was trying to ring in. I talked him through it and he sent his order. I noticed that he didn’t “OVERVIEW” his efforts before hitting “SEND.” He had mostly trained with one of our many lovely Amandas, who’s a real good waitress and can pretty much get by OK with skipping that step and usually does skip it—I’m sure this is how Jones developed his bad habit—this rookie dude needs to always read the “SUMMARY” before tuning in his orders, for a lot of reasons, and I told him so. He promised he would from now on but I didn’t believe him, even though he was probably sincere at the time. So I made up a lie, inspired by the beer-spying program. I told him that the register knows when anyone doesn’t hit the “REVIEW” button and that if it happens enough times, it’s a write-up. I also said that if he doesn’t send his orders properly and something’s fucked up and product goes to waste, he’ll get in more trouble than he would have had he just played the game. Come to think of it, our computers are from NCR®, a company with a horrible reputation for getting way all up in folks’ business, so maybe what I told dude was actually true.

    If you have any thoughts &/or experiences with these subjects I'd love it if you'd share them with me. And do ya like new (I think) words 'strauranties and johnskulled and do you think I spelled them right?

Really Good Work Shoes ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     Every restaurant I’ve worked at - and I’ve worked at a lot of them over the last several years - has had its uniform standards. Some have been kind of lax, some real strict. The standards have always included rules about footwear.

     About 2004 or so, restaurants began requiring their employees to wear slip-resistant shoes at work. At first I was like, “Great. Here’s another rule,” but now I can’t believe I ever went to work shod in anything else. I’ve bought several pairs of slip-resistant shoes over the years, the character of which have run the quality gamut from “pretty good” to “lousy.” But I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ve found where I’ll be getting my footwear from now on: SR Max Slip Resistant Shoes.

     The SR Max website is well-designed and easy to navigate to find and order the shoes you’re seeking. There are plenty of styles, colors, brands and sizes to choose from. At both of my jobs, conservative, black, dress-type shoes are mandated, so after careful consideration, I chose the Manhattan model, although there are certainly lots of other good options available. My kicks were delivered in a very timely manner by United Parcel Service. SR Max has a sensible and very generous return policy that I believe is the best in the business. The policy is posted on their website and you’ll get a printed copy of it with your order. They also throw in a prepaid UPS label, for use in the unlikely event that you have any issues. I didn’t need any of that though. My shoes look great and fit even better! My new kicks are hella comfortable and obviously very well-made. Nobody else at work has shoes that look as sharp as mine and I’ve gotten several compliments on them. Their cost was very reasonable. In fact, I’d expect to pay more for shoes like this that didn’t have slip-resistance.

     My experience has been so positive that I plan on buying  more shoes from SR Max real soon. They’ve got some black Skechers that I want for when I go back to beer vending at the football stadium in September. Slip-resistant shoes can be worn in any environment where shoes can be worn, not just work. SR Max has shoes for grocers, nurses, retail employees, warehouse workers, as well as servers. While no shoes are slip-proof, merely slip-resistant, my Manhattans have noticeably better slip resistance than any other footwear I’ve ever tried. SR Max shoes are safer, better looking, more well-made and a better value than what you’re wearing now. Do yourself a favor and check them out!

BONUS: Just as a side note, SR Max is offering my loyal These American Servers™ readers an extra discount on their shoes. Just enter the promo code “SIXTOP” at checkout to knock a few dollars off of your next work shoe purchase.

Handy Tip Guide ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     One night a few years ago I waited on these two nice Scottish ladies. They’d just been to Graceland™  and were on their way to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame™  , or maybe it was the other way around. It was toward the end of the shift, they’d shared a bottle of wine and, while far from drunk, the Blackstone® Merlot had made them kind of loquacious and I got a lot of America-related questions from them. They were  nice and I didn’t mind talking to them. They wanted to know about a lot of stuff and I was glad I could help out a little. At some point they asked about the North American custom of tipping.

     They knew they were expected to tip something, but that was about all. They were really confused and wanted me to clear some things up for them. I showed them the ticket they’d already run up, it was about 50 bucks. I told them to get out one of their $100 American Express® Traveler’s Cheques™, fill in the name of the restaurant and sign it in my presence. Then all they had to do was hand it over to yours truly, smile, thank me ever so much and insist I keep the change.

     I didn’t really do that. I wasn’t fishing for any tips; they’d brought it up. I thought about other servers that might wait on them here in America. Except tor their chattiness -------- which I imagine they’d dial down a little if someone real busy was waiting on them -------- they were pretty low-maintenance. The ladies had a vague idea about percentages, so I went with that. I didn’t go into a lot of subtle nuances, like if they got a discounted meal or if they bought an expensive bottle of wine, except to say that if they were exceptionally well-cared for, they tip a little more than usual. They’d be going home soon and I didn’t see the point of confusing them or anything. I just wanted to help them not hideously mistreat anyone. So I mostly focused on tipping 15 %.

     They weren’t stupid or wasted, but for some reason they had a hard time with that. So I talked about ten percent. It took me a minute but I got them to agree that it was pretty easy to cipher out ten percent of any financial amount, be it pounds or dollars or euros or whatever. Then I asked if they could figure out half of that amount and add it to the ten percent already arrived at. Bingo! They finally understood.

      One of them had heard somewhere that you only tip on the amount the bill would be if there was no sales tax. I put a slightly stern look on my face at that one and said whoever had told them that was lying. Whatever percent someone tips, that gratuity should be calculated based on the total ticket. “Besides,” I appealed to their math-phobia, “just look at the bottom line and tip based on that. Make it easy on yourselves and don’t worry about the different sales tax ordeals you’ll run into in various American jurisdictions.”

     The ladies shared a dessert and got their check. They gave me the presenter and told me they didn’t need any change. I thanked them very much and wished them a good trip. I left the server book on the table for awhile and did something else. When I returned, their bill for just under $50 was in there, along with three crisp American twenty-dollar bills.

     That’s a very minor incident that I haven’t thought of in years. What brought it to mind was something that’s going on at the weediest restaurant in America, where I wait tables at night. They have added to the checks the customers get a “Handy Tip Guide.” Yeah, I’m fucking serious. There was no forewarning. It just was not there ever and then one day about a week ago it was. I don’t like that shit one little bit and I tear it off of every ticket before I present it. The only check I’ve presented that I didn’t do that on was the other night when I waited on some big executive with the company and his family who get comped anyway and on that one I just folded over the offending information (I got a good tip). The handy tip guide shows 15% and 17.5% (yeah, really) and 20%. Upon further study of this bullshit, I sussed out that these percentage amounts are based on pre-tax amounts. The weediest restaurant in America, when they suggest 15%, are actually encouraging their clientele to leave substandard tips! This is at a restaurant that does not allow an automatic gratuity to be added  to any checks, no matter how large a party is. I realize we operate in some areas other than here, where millage rates might be slightly different, but with the amazing arithmatical capabilities computers have nowadays, that’s no excuse. They shouldn’t be putting shit like that on their checks in the first place, but if they’re going to, at least do it right. I’ve got to get the fuck out of there.

     Have you ever heard of anything like this and how do you feel about it?

Heinously Bad c2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     I missed out on a golden opportunity that'll probably never come again. I could've posted an episode of These American Servers  with the unusual date of February 29th on it, but I didn't. Events kind of conspired against me; I worked a double that day, I misplaced the charger for this computer and the material in the on-deck circle wasn't quite ready yet. But really, if I'd of had my shit together a little more, I could have made it happen. And the scintillating story I'm serving up now isn't what I was contemplating for that last day of February.That one'll probably show up here soon, this one's about a really bad Saturday night at work.
    

     Heinously bad weather was forecast for Friday night but it never happened. Sure, it rained a little and there was a lot of gusty wind and it appeared a lot like how I’ve been led to believe tornado weather probably looks, but thankfully, the threatened devastation never happened.. I realize a lot of bad weather did take place in the United States that day and my heart goes out to its victims. But all it did to us here was cause our business to be a lot slower than expected that evening. It really wasn’t that bad a night. I closed and waited on a good amount of folks, made pretty nice cheese. It was just slow enough to where I was a little less weeded than usual and could at least pretend to delude myself that I was taking good care of my clientele. Things were a little different on Saturday.

     I had this whole big room with ten fourtop tables in it all to myself. I think everybody showed up for work and the fault was probably with the schedule maker and maybe the Manager on Duty. I know a lot of servers that would love a ten-table station on a busy night but not me; I like quality tips better than quantity tips. Anyway, I conversed with the hosting professionals about it and was promised that they’d try not to kill me. They did kill me a couple of times but, I gotta be fair here, not nearly as bad as I expected when I saw that floor chart.

     I got pretty busy right away. My first couple of tables were low-maintenance and things went pretty well. The door whores kind of started loading me up pretty heavy, with some folks who were indecisive and/or persnickety, and it wasn’t long before I had the familiar feeling of weeds nipping at my heels and threatening my ankles, which is only appropriate, since it is after all the weediest restaurant in America. Most everybody  was pretty nice and I kept smiling and  managed to hang in there OK. Then ticket times started taking a little long. After that they started taking a lot long. I had several tables with 40-minute ticket times and some of my co-workers had chow take even longer than that.

     I think a lot of customers who stayed home on Friday due to weather concerns went out on Saturday instead. Our new GM, Desmond, was expediting. I don’t blame him for the kitchen’s meltdown. He actually held it together pretty well, all things considered, and I think he did a pretty good job under very difficult circumstances. The manager on the floor that night was Dale, assistant manager in charge of the waitstaff, and I got him to pay table visits to most of my tables that had food take a long time, which got to be pretty much all of them. I always make a concerted effort to never take the rap for shit that is my fault so I sure the fuck wasn’t going to take it for some slow chow that wasn’t. Dale comped a lot of product.

      The worst people I waited on that night weren’t all that bad. One of my booths was apparently located in a spot that was a little chilly and more than once people wanted to move from it.. A lot of my co-workers said that  they got some shitty tips but then enough good, possibly sympathy, tips to make up for it. A couple of the female employees were brought to tears because of some verbal abuse heaped upon them by some disgruntled customers who ought to be ashamed of themselves. I on the other hand walked with $100 on sales of only $400! I had a guy bring in some kids and leave me $30 on $39. Then another guy who works in a competing restaurant found me at a side station and give me $30 after the host of the table he’d been part of left me ten bucks on a $70 tab. I thanked dude very much and told him it was more than I deserved. I would have liked to have made a little less money in exchange for enduring a lot less stressfulness, but oh well.

Underutilized Resource ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     At night I work at the weediest restaurant in America where all I do is straight-up wait tables. They haven't asked me to do anything else, like fill in on to-go, or hosting. If ever they do ask me to do anything like that, my answer will be "no" because that job withholds whatever hourly pay I get from them to the IRS. It kind of messed me up when I never got a check for training ("THIS IS NOT A CHECK," November, 2011) but now I'm about to get a fat-ass tax refund, so oh well.
     I do all kinds of shizzle at my day job. I was hired as a server but I've worked every Front Of The House position they have. By far my favorite chore there is working Curveside™  to-go and I'm slowly but surely making that the only task I do for them. I get $7.25 an hour doing it, plus tips, which can be substantial. I get a somewhat-meaningful paycheck every other week. It's usually just me who's bagging up chow and taking it out to people's vehicles and it can get pretty overwhelming sometimes. It's not all that unusual for me to be kind of slow on Curveside and everybody else to be pretty slammed. That's when my cheap-ass day job fails to make full use of a terrific underutilized resource that's right under their very noses: me.
     Company spec for Curveside greet is "less than 30 seconds." They have a camera on the Curveside parking area. There's a little TV in the kitchen that's connected to that camera. The to-go employee can be bagging up orders and keep an eye on when someone pulls up, and make greet. That TV hasn't worked in more than a year. When I'm working Curveside, I try and help everybody else as much as I can. I'll run food, replenish the ice holes, bus tables, make beverages, all kinds of shit. Without that TV, I'm a little bit limited in playing my position, but a lot limited in eating my co-workers' weeds. A small, analog, Black & White TV could be purchased for less than 50 dollars. Paying a professional to install it might run another $50, but we've got a ton of regulars who'd be able and willing to do it for a free cheeseburger.
     My GM, Brenda B, tells me that she asks her boss to improve our closed-circuit capabilities on a regular basis but is consistently shut out and I believe her. I've thought about finding an appropriate television on Craigslist or somewhere and paying for it myself, but so far when that thought has entered my mind, I've been like, "Fuck that!"

A Joke and Some Whining ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     There's these two dudes, both waiters. After work one night, they go to a bar to drink beer. One of them's bitching about his girlfriend. After listening to his co-worker's griping for awhile, the other one says, "Why don't you just break up with her?"
     "Are you kidding?" says the first guy, "She's got DirecTV®!"
     I made that joke up–although I'm sure there are similar ones out there–to illustrate a point I might get around to try making here in a minute. Feel free to tell the joke if you want. Nobody reads this, so you can pretty much claim it as your own with little fear of contradiction. If you want to tell it and sound more grown up, instead of having "DirecTV!" be the punchline, you might say, "those rockin' big titties!" or something like that.
     Anyway, the weediest restaurant in America, where I wait tables at night, is a little like that large-breasted, DirecTV-having GF. I kind of want to break up with her, good arguments could probably be made that I should extricate myself from the situation—even though there's a lot of good there's also some downside to the relationship— but some things I like about the situation keep me sticking around. I'm pretty happy with the schedules I've been getting here lately and I like that we close at ten (eleven on weekends). The money's acceptable. There's also a hell of a lot about the whole ordeal that I'm not so crazy about.
     The wisdom of the ages has always held that the best time to look for a job is when you have one (or more). I'll probably remain there for awhile, assuming I don't get fired; they love firing people at the weediest restaurant in America. Just writing this stuff down is kind of helping me focus my thoughts on the subject. Thanks for reading, and if you have any suggestions, I'd love it if you'd share them with me.

The Weediest Restaurant in America™ ©2012 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     I used to have them every night, back when I first started waiting tables, 20-plus years ago. No, I'm not talking about hangovers (although I guess I could be); I'm talking about server nightmares. You know, you've got a full station of 79 tables and the floor's covered in Super Glue®. Or the dining room's in a building way across town from the kitchen. Maybe you've had the one where you're sitting in your grandmother's lap and then the train goes through the tunnel. Hey, go ahead and forget I mentioned that last one, OK?
     Anyhow, as the years have gone by, I've had fewer and fewer bad restaurant dreams, less than one a year now. Even when I start a new job I usually don't get serving nightmares about it. But I feel like I'm having them all the time here lately—when I'm awake, no less—because I work at the weediest restaurant in America.
     It's not the worst restaurant I've ever worked at. I've had jobs that made me unhappier than this one does, some much more so. It's got it's good points. But always if you need something even a little out of the ordinary, and usually if you're after something totally normal, you're fucked. If the soup wells are empty or low and you go back to the Alto-Shaam® for refills, it's empty. Need some tea? The urns will be dry, as will be the pitchers, if you can even find any. If you want lemons for that tea, you're shit out of luck. When the fountain beverages run out, you have to hunt down a manager with a key in order to replenish them. I could go on. And on. And on. But you get the idea.
     I joke around with my co-workers about it a lot. I've taken to calling our workplace "the weediest restaurant in America," to the considerable amusement of my fellow sufferers. Sometimes, when I'm back in the kitchen, frantically seeking something I desperately need that we're out of, I'll affect this cheesy, disc jockey kind of voice and say something like, "Thanks for calling WRIA (get it?) rockin' restaurant request line where we're cooking the platters that clatter. You say it, we serve it. Whaddya wanna hear? Full ice bins? Ooohh, sorry. We don't have that one. A manager's help? We're good, but we can't work miracles. I tell ya what, how about a double-shot o' double sat?! Hang on the line and we'll send ya life-size poster of horndog former restaurant industry lobbyist Newt Gingrich wearing nothing but a smile! Thanks for calling WRIA!"
     Right now I'm only telling y'all about what it's like when we're fully staffed and the manager's ostensibly keeping an eye on things. When most everyone's cut and the cooks are trying to get a jump on their closing stuff and the MOD's in the office, holding up his life-size poster of nude Gingrich with one hand and doing the five-knuckle shuffle with the other, it gets way, way worse if you're still on. The weediest restaurant in America has two speeds: deadly slow and full-on crash and burn. Do you think your restarant is weedier than mine and feel like telling me about it?

     The first week in January of this year, I got out the request book and asked off for Friday, February third through Monday, February sixth. No one else had yet requested those nights off ( I made my request about a month in advance). A couple of days ago, Dale, the manager in charge of the waitstaff at the weediest restaurant in America, approached me unbeckoned and said, "Hey buddy, I got ya those days off you requested." I thanked him very much and went about my bidniss. Tonight, next week's schedule was finally posted, and guess what? I'm on the schedule for both that Friday and Saturday night.