This job would be great if it weren't for the customers

As previously discussed on this blog, I am fully aware that I don't *have* to wait tables, that I am capable of getting and holding down a more "stable" day job. But I like working in a restaurant most of the time. People behave rather astonishingly when they are dining out. Usually, I'm amused by the oddities I witness and strange requests (such as a martini with a straw) but sometimes my friendly, professional veneer cracks and I want to pour scalding hot coffee over all the patrons in my section. To avoid this fate, here are some handy tips on how to not be an asshole in a restaurant:

1. If you don't want ice in your Diet Coke, the time to tell me that is when you order it, not when I bring it to the table.

2. If it's not on the menu, we don't have it, even if you had it the last time you were here.

3. If you have a gift certificate, you should still tip on the amount you spent INCLUDING THE GIFT CERTIFICATE. If the gift certificate is for $50 and your total before that's deducted is $100, you should tip on the $100 (i.e. at least $15).

4. I heard you the first time when you asked for decaf. Ask again and it might be a looooog, jittery, sleepless night.

5. Please just sit where the hostess tries to seat you. You will get the same food/service no matter where you sit and it throws everything off sometimes if you insist on sitting where you want.

6. I am happy to make suggestions and tell you what I like, but I don't know your life. Chicken or salmon? Mushroom omelet or brioche french toast? It's all delicious. MAKE UP YOUR MIND ALREADY, I HAVE OTHER TABLES.

7. I mean, it's your dollar, but if you're ordering your steak well done and your fish cooked through, might I suggest dining at the Marriott down the street? The chef there is masterful when it comes to overcooking protein.

8. If you order a $75 bottle of wine with your meal and pay with a black Amex, I think you can manage an 18-20% tip, unless I do something egregious. My hourly is $2.65 and your annual fee is $2500.

9. Don't ask me to split the check 5 ways. Unless you're dining with total strangers you will never see again after this meal, I'm guessing you can work it out somehow.

10. Please don't talk to me like I have the IQ of a seared sea scallop. I'm a college-educated, self-supporting professional earning a graduate degree. I also happen to know a lot about food and wine, which is why I'm at your table. And I want you to have the best experience possible, so if you're polite, I promise everything will be lovely.

Happiness

Happiness hit her like a train on a track

Coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back

She hid around corners and she hid under beds

She killed it with kisses and from it she fled

With every bubble she sank with a drink

And washed it away down the kitchen sink.

-- "Dog Days Are Over" (Florence & The Machine)

The subject of this post is happiness; or more specifically, my recent happiness. And even more specifically, the odd feelings (guilt, suspicion, terror) that have accompanied my realization that I'm happier now than I have been in years.

Happiness is an elusive notion. The pursuit of it, according to the Constitution, is one of our unalienable rights. Obviously, happiness means different things to different people, which perhaps accounts for the 17,529 books on Amazon that either have the word in the title or listed as the subject.

Generally, I think of myself as a positive person, with a fairly optimistic outlook on life. But that doesn't mean I've always been happy. Living in Boston (as opposed to New York) definitely has made me a happier person, but still, it has taken nearly two years for me to feel genuinely happy with my life here.

What has changed? In the last few months, it's like everything has just clicked into alignment. Usually, when one aspect of my life is going well, another is, pardon the expression, in the shitter. If my personal life is on the upswing, I'll be stressed about money/career and vice versa. But right now, everything is going pretty freakin' well. And it's freaking me out.

Job-wise, I'm very content. I love being a server at Lineage: love the food, love my co-workers, and the money is good. It's the first restaurant job I've had that I've found satisfying and not frustrating. And in the fall, I'll be teaching a college class, which is something I've always wanted to do. Very exciting.

I've also finally figured out who my friends are in Boston. This can be a tough town in terms of meeting people and my first year here was pretty lonely. But now, I feel confident that the circle of people I spend my time with are good, caring individuals that have my back and enjoy my company. This is a good feeling.

And finally, last but certainly not least, there is a new and thrilling romance, with someone I met on Match.com. My very first Match date turned out to be a winner -- we've been seeing each other for about 6 weeks now and it gets better every day. All the cliched, eye-rolling emotions have turned out to be true: he makes my heart race, gives me butterflies, and I miss him as soon as he's gone. And I think he feels the same way -- if not, he is a master manipulator, not to mention a superb actor.

But who goes on ONE internet date and meets someone great? What are the odds of that happening? How did I get so lucky?

The answer is, I don't know. For the first time in a long time, there is nothing in my life causing me anxiety. And for those of you who know me, that is bizarre. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the shit to hit the fan...I mean, any day now, I'm going to get fired or get my heart broken, right? It can't be correct that I'm allowed all this good fortune.

Of course, when I told all this to my new guy, his response was "Are you sure you're not Irish Catholic?"

So I'm happy....now what?

Restaurant Lexicon

Now that I've been working in the food & beverage industry for a year and a half, I have a handle on some of the lingo and thought it would be fun to provide a handy guide for those of you out there who may be trying to break into the exciting business of waiting tables. If you don't have any experience, you'll probably have to make up some to get hired (my first resume created for a restaurant job was definitely a piece of creative writing). And to "pass" as someone with experience, you have to talk the talk as well as walk the walk.

B and B: Not a cozy inn, but rather a small plate for bread (and butter).

Deuce: A table that seats two people.

Eighty-six: To be out of something, i.e. "86 lobster tacos." There are various theories about the origin of this expression.

FOH: Abbreviation for "front of house" staff.

On the books: refers to the number of reservations on a given night. "How many are on the books?" translates to "how many reservations do we have?"

Pre-meal: Sadly, not a meal, but a meeting for the FOH before service.

Sat: As in, "You just got sat." Means a table in your section has just been seated.

Sidework: Stuff you do when you're not busy, like polish silverware and fold napkins.

Sous: Short for sous chef.

Stodge: Can be a noun or verb; refers to a trial or apprentice shift.

Walk-in: A large refrigerator, big enough to walk into.

Weeds: As in, "I'm in the weeds." Not a good place to be; means you're slammed and falling behind.

Working in a restaurant is tough and knowing the slang is only one small part; balancing trays, communicating amidst chaos, dealing with the occasional wretched customer, it's all more exhausting than you'd think. Honestly. I worked Friday night, Saturday night, and brunch this morning and I'm wiped. I must have filled 500 glasses of water; when one women commented on my water-refilling vigilance, I said solemnly, "I am a water sentinel."

In searching for some kind of picture to represent "water sentinel," I stumbled upon the lyrics to a song recorded by Ella Fitzgerald called "I Want the Waiter (With the Water)." Many of the lyrics are nonsensical ("He's got a menu that will send you and befriend you") but I still enjoy it. Ella, had you walked into my restaurant, your water needs would have been fulfilled...and refilled.

Finally, I'm betting my tips would be better if I were allowed to wear this:

Napkins = my nemesis

The hardest part of a new restaurant job for me is not learning table numbers or the names of the kitchen staff. I have a great short-term memory and can recite daily specials till I'm blue in the face. No, the thing I absolutely dread every time I get hired by a restaurant is.....

napkin folding.

Every restaurant has their own way of doing it. And it always takes me much longer than it should to master it. It's like there's a gap in my brain -- things start misfiring and I just can't make the napkin look the way it's supposed to. I'm earning a master's degree and yet the simple task of folding a napkin becomes Herculean when under the watchful eye of whatever server is training me. It doesn't matter how deftly I can refill butter ramekins or polish water glasses. She will lose all respect for me as soon as she sees me try to fold napkins.

As far as I can tell. the skill involved with napkin folding has something to do with spatial reasoning, which I apparently was born without. Spatial reasoning is "the ability to visualize spatial patterns and mentally manipulate them" and is pretty essential for engineers and architects. The Wikipedia entry also states that it is "important for generating and conceptualizing solutions for multi-step problems that arise in everyday life." Great.

This has all been on my mind lately because I finally got hired by a legitimate, well-run, upscale restaurant: Lineage. I'm incredibly happy now that "Dos" didn't hire me. I've done two training shifts at Lineage and no one seems to have noticed my napkin-folding disability yet....but it's only a matter of time. I can only hope that by the time they catch wise, I will have won them over with my charm. The napkins at Lineage appear to be rather simply folded -- if I had shown up for training and seen something like this--

-- I probably would have turned in my bistro apron then and there. Just looking at that picture stresses me out.

Curious about your own spatial reasoning aptitude? Take this free online test to find out your spatial ID.

The help

Yesterday, I went to my first bat mitzvah. Despite the numerous Jews I now count among my closest friends, I used to be a raging anti-Semite. Just kidding! The truth is that I switched schools in 7th grade and missed my window of opportunity. Also, St. Louis, MO is pretty WASP-dominated.

Yesterday was a milestone, in more ways than one. Sadly, I was not a relative or friend of the young lady celebrating her transition (in stylish black Minolos) into adulthood. I was the help.


It was my first gig with Event Temps, a company that provides food service staff for catered events (parties, weddings, mitzvahs et al). As many of you know, I returned to Boston in September hell-bent on getting a job at a certain Chicago-style pizza chain. In case I ever do get hired by this establishment, I'll refer to it here as "Dos."

It was my dream to work for "Dos": After getting groped by stuck-up Cantabs at the Hong Kong and slinging sushi at a place that never quite mastered its payroll procedures, I figured "Dos" would be a well-oiled machine. There's a location just 5 minutes from my house and it's always crowded. And yet, after applying online, following up in person and on the phone, nada. I even tried the Fenway location and interviewed, but was told they were fully staffed for the time being and to check back in a few months. So my dream to work at "Dos" is now, as Langston Hughes would say, a dream deferred.

So now I am an Event Temp. Saturday morning, I carpooled out to a synagogue in Wayland, MA to pass appetizers, fold napkins and man the soda table. In the car ride over, the other temps on my shift assured me that this sort of work was easier than waiting tables. But what I have concluded after working my first shift is that it's also less rewarding. Partly because you're supposed to be somewhat invisible -- no one is ordering off a menu and consulting you. You're just paid labor, keeping water glasses full and clearing plates. And hovering-- there was a great deal of hovering.

The event was a success; I didn't spill anything on anyone and the people seemed very nice. The kids were hyper, but partly because of my zealousness in refilling their sodas. But I did notice a few of the tweens watching us as we went about our work and I know what they were thinking. They were looking at their well-dressed parents sipping wine and looking at me, in my ill-fitting black polyester vest, pouring said wine and I'd bet they were thinking, That will never be me. Maybe not consciously, but let's face it, we were the life losers in the scenario. They were probably wondering what we had done, how we had screwed up to deserve the fate of refilling butter ramekins on a Saturday afternoon.

And I'm not gonna lie, this was a less-than-steller feeling. Waiting tables, I commanded more respect. I could talk and smile with people, do my best to make sure they had a good meal. Event Temps are supposed to be courteous but not engage much with the guests. Engaging with people is my favorite part of waitressing, so this was disappointing to discover.

I need a job, so for now, Event Temps will have to do. But "Dos," if you ever need me...I'm there. Call me!

Don't Forget to Tip Your Waitress!

When I came in to interview for a server position at Exotic Sushi and Tapas, the owner, Cathy, looked over my resume and seemed surprised to see that I had graduated from Yale. When she e-mailed me to offer me the job, she wrote that she was worried I was overqualified and would be "bored" working as a server. Similarly, my boyfriend's family is baffled by my decision to wait tables. Wouldn't I prefer an office job, something more suited to my Ivy League skill set?

The answer is no.

I'm living in Boston to go to grad school and get my MFA. I need a job to pay my bills and while yes, I almost certainly could work part-time in some administrative capacity and take advantage of my knowledge of Excel spreadsheets, I am choosing not to. For several reasons:

1. I need a job that does not tax me mentally because I need my brain for class and for out-of-class writing. If I spent all day in front of a computer, I would not want to come home and sit in front of another computer to write papers or stories.

2. I don't need any kind of benefits because I get benefits as part of my tuition.

3. I find being a waitress to be rewarding -- I'm on my feet, being friendly, and multi-tasking. I'm good at it and I make good tips.

Having spent five years in New York, where I'd estimate 90% of the servers and bartenders are aspiring actors, musicians, artists, directors, photographers, writers etc, I am often surprised when customers treat me with condescension, presumably because I'm "just a waitress." Very few people are "just" anything. I don't expect special treatment because of my Yale degree but I also don't deserve scorn because I choose to wait tables to pay my way through school.

I'll conclude with this footage from the musical "Working." This number, performed here by Rita Moreno, is called "It's an Art" and I'm sure you can guess what it's about. This is exactly how I feel about being a waitress!

Who Am I?

(hint: the answer is not Jean Valjean)

In my nonfiction writing class, we've been reading excerpts from memoirs and personal essays by authors ranging from E.B. White to Maxine Hong Kingston. For my first workshop piece, I'm focusing on the question of identity by telling the story of my crazy freshman year suitemate, Bashe, who desperately wanted to be British and spoke with a phony accent 24-7. Issues pertaining to my own concept of identity tie into the essay (what college freshman isn't unsure of who he/she is?), which got me to thinking about how others perceive me vs. how I perceive myself. What I am discovering is that context is everything.

For instance, I have recently been detecting something unusual from Ali, the balding overweight man who runs the corner bodega by my apartment (the Linden Superette). The look in his eyes when he rings up my items....could it be pity? Why does this man feel sorry for me? Then I realized that I always come in alone, often unshowered, without makeup, and wearing sweatpants. And I regularly buy cat food and frozen Lean Pockets. He thinks I am a lonely cat lady! When this dawned on me, I felt compelled to dress up and enter the store flanked by an entourage of attractive friends...but this guy probably doesn't feel superior to many people, so I think I'll continue playing the role of single, homely, cat-owning woman.

At my new waitress job, Exotic Sushi and Tapas, they clearly have a different perception of me. Those of you who know me have heard me gripe about this place -- I'm trying my damndest to stay positive because the food is delicious and I think the owners mean well -- but the fact remains that I have worked there for 6 weeks now and not seen a paycheck. I'm making tips and my hourly wage is only $2.67/hr so it's not like the check is going to be that helpful, but still, it's the principle. Many employees have quit because they weren't getting paychecks and it's hard to understand how/why management believes they don't have to pay their staff. The only conclusion I can come to is that in their eyes, I am slave labor.

(In a meek act of protest, I have started giving my customers free miso soup. I fancy myself a sort of Japanese Robin Hood, distributing miso soup to the masses. We only charge $2 for the soup, but considering how cheap it is to make and how much gets thrown out, I think the end justifies the miso.)

Finally, let's examine how one other party perceives me: my cat Maude.


Not to brag, but I am the center of Maude's universe. Maude is mesmerized by my presence -- I am all powerful. When I come home at the end of the day, she is always, without fail, waiting by the door, meowing. The unconditional love pets provide is pretty nice -- no matter how shitty I may feel or how people may treat me, I know there is one living creature who will always crave my affection and attention. It's almost enough to give me a God complex. Almost.

Because mass e-mails are so impersonal

There are some new developments in my life! And if you are reading this blog, you might care about them (emphasis on the "might").

1. I have a new job!

I have been hired as a waitress at a new restaurant opening in the financial district. It's called Exotic Sushi and Tapas. Which is an odd combo, but hey, I'm trying to keep an open mind. I hope people still eat sushi during a recession. I plan to, at least. I could never give up Dragon Rolls.

Yum.

2. I have joined an a cappella group!

It's called Downtown Crossing. I haven't rehearsed with them yet, but I miss singing and performing so I'm looking forward to getting started. And apparently, a cappella is having a bit of a renaissance, what with Ben Fold's Five's new album featuring collegiate a cappella covers of their songs, and the upcoming Conspiracy of Beards (all-male a cappella group that sings only Leonard Cohen) concert at the Highline Ballroom in New York.

3. I am writing for a new sex blog!

It's called The Sex Appeal and I'll be posting twice monthly, on alternate Mondays. In homage to my name and the infamous hard-to-find spot, I hope to call my column The Silent "G". My first post should be up this Monday. It will be a review/adult perspective on Judy Blume's racy teen novel "Forever," which got me quite hot and bothered when I read it at age 11. Will it still seem as raunchy now that I've actually done the deed? Tune in Monday to find out.

So that's all the latest...apologies to people who read this blog and have no interest in the personal life of its author.

Observations from behind the bar

Recently, my job description at Hong Kong Harvard has expanded from just cocktail waitressing to cocktail waitressing and bartending. On either Friday or Saturday, I get to tend the "baby bar" on the third floor, which serves only beer and shots. It's a totally different perspective, to be behind the bar -- there is more respect and less groping. And I have a great view of the dance floor, which if you've been to my place of work, know is highly entertaining.

Hong Kong reminds me a lot of Toad's in New Haven: it's a cheapish college bar where you can do tequila shots and drink Bud Light while (almost) shamelessly dancing to hip hop and Britney. I myself only went to Toad's three times in four years, and once was to see a They Might Be Giants concert. But the other two times, I did what you're supposed to do in such establishments -- binge-drank like it was going out of style and made a fool of myself on the dance floor. And watching people at Hong Kong has confirmed my worst fears of how ridiculous I must have looked.

My new vantage point offers phenomenal people-watching opportunities. FYI, how you interact with your bartender says more about you than you realize.

Some observations:

Girls tip better than guys

Everyone told me that being a cute girl would be my golden ticket and to wear low-cut shirts to get more tips, but I've found that unless the girlfriend/date is watching, some guys don't tip appropriately. What is appropriate? $1 a drink. Period. Pretty easy. Even with beer, guys. I'm getting paid $2.65/hr, people.

Yes, I am making conversation with you because it's my job. Most likely I do not want your phone number

I mean, I won't be offended if you try to give it to me. I'll probably be flattered. But don't wait by the phone, dude.

Don't be a creeper on the dance floor

Last night, there was this shady dude whose signature move was to sneak up and stealthily freak-dance on unsuspecting girls. When they would finally notice, they would get this horrified look on their faces and run away. I saw this guy do this literally 400 times over the course of two hours. Don't be this guy.

You know how you think you look really fierce? This is what you actually look like:


What you order does say a lot about you

When you ask if I can make you a Sex On The Beach, I am judging you. Especially since there's a big sign over my bar that says I only serve beer.

It's Saturday and I'll be back at Hong Kong again tonight....so drink responsibly! Your bartender is watching you.

My new job

Mom and Dad would be so proud.

Ok, so technically, I don't work at Club Fuxxx, but The Comedy Studio, where I am a waitress two nights a week becomes Club Fuxxx at 11 pm on Fridays and Saturdays. Located on the third floor of the illustrious Hong Kong restaurant and bar, Club Fuxxx draws mostly Harvard kids who enthusiastically and poorly dance to hip-hop after drinking a few too many Scorpion Bowls.

Observe:

The woman on the far right looks like she just got an enema.

I'm thinking about submitting info about my new job to the Yale Alumni Magazine for inclusion in the Class Notes section. The entry might look something like this:

Brooks Madison (JE) just passed the California bar exam and will be joining the prestigious law firm of Miller, Toppleman, and Krauss next month. Best of luck, Brooks! McKenzie Adams (SM) and Douglas Dalton (TD) recently tied the knot at Martha's Vineyard in front of a crowd of 350 which included many Yalies and Ivy League graduates. The ceremony, according to bridesmaid Lindsay Taft (SM), was extremely elegant and tasteful. Katie Vagnino (BR) just got a job as a cocktail waitress at Club Fuxxx in Cambridge, MA. Drs. Suzanna Spitz-Boone (DC) and Pierce Boone (MC '01) recently returned from a three-month Doctors-Without-Borders tour in Kenya and are thrilled to annoucnce that they are expecting their first child in March.

One of these things is not like the other....