Times Have Changed…

August 27, 2009

…and ya’ll need to get with them.

Yeah, I know it’s been awhile since I posted. I haven’t had much to write about/I’ve been stupidly busy getting ready for the upcoming quarter. It’s also my last quarter at the community college–hopefully I will be accepted into the university. Hooray, finally graduating!

Anyway, we had a group of seven tonight, including three older folks who came in before the rest. Since we were really dead tonight, Nosering and I stood in the back and chatted with them a bit. All was going well, they asked us where we went to school, what we were focusing on, etc. Normal stuff, until one of the men asked us this:

“So, which of you ladies are going to get married first?”

“What?”

“After college, which one of you are going to get married first?”

Nosering and I just looked at each other and kind of laughed it off. But seriously, what the fuck? I know it used to be that women went to college to find a husband, but this is the 21st century. Also, how the hell are we supposed to know when we’re going to get married? That’s a touchy subject in my relationship; I don’t know about her. And finally, why the fuck would I be finishing college if I was planning to become a housewife? Bitch, I’m going to graduate school.

Note: I don’t mean to slight housewives, that’s a tough job and I’m sure it’s quite fulfilling for many women. It’s not for me, however–I hate kids, I can’t cook, and I don’t like to clean.

I’d laugh this off as a relic of a bygone era if there weren’t so many sexual double standards still prevalent in society today. Girls who have/enjoy sex are sluts while guys are studs, men can’t take care of the home, women still get shit if they don’t take their husband’s last name (skip to the comments).

Who knows, maybe I’m taking this too seriously. But when I have to deal with horny old men blatantly leering down my shirt every goddamn day, when I see the waitresses constantly blamed for things specifically because they’re female, and then this shit happens, the feminist part of my brain starts to get fired up.

I’m Not a Bank!

July 25, 2009

So, good sir, why did you give me $7 in change? Initially I thought maybe it was all right because it was all silver, but I returned to my senses when I realized I now had enough quarters to win Pac-Man about 30 fucking times.

I also have something to say to our hearing-impaired friends in the audience–if you are half-deaf, do not get pissed when I’m forced to raise my voice so you can hear me. Furthermore, do not get pissy when I ask you to repeat yourself because you are whispering on the phone. Do not hang up on me before I can confirm your order and then bitch when it’s not exactly right. In fact, just go away and leave me alone.

Continuing with the stupid shit, tonight we had a solicitor. Has this happened to anyone else? Some guy came in and tried to sell us boxes of candy to ostensibly benefit a program for children. I was so stunned by the audacity of the situation that I stood there, slack-jawed. Sister A, however, was quick to throw him out on his ass.

It’s not that I mind donating to charity–that’s fine. But coming in and pulling a hard sell in a restaurant? Bothering employees and making customers uncomfortable? Why on earth would you think that that’s an okay thing to do? Due to his complete lack of professionalism or tact, I’m inclined to believe he was not actually gathering money for charity and instead was a con artist trying to scam a bunch of hard-working foodservice employees. I really can’t believe the organization he claimed to be working for, one I am well-acquainted with, would encourage its volunteers to behave in such a way. Then again, we have the Shriners, who create traffic hazards by standing in the street to guilt motorists into buying a newspaper they’re never going to read. So I could be wrong.

Final, happy note: I actually made about $9 in tips last night, which is damn good considering over the past month I’ve made about $3. Remember, this is carryout–tipping isn’t mandatory. It was like getting paid for an extra hour of work, which is great because we closed 15 minutes early.

That’s all for today, tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion!

People are Jerks

July 22, 2009

Last night was refreshingly busy. Unfortunately, my side of the increased business included almost nothing but rude and impatient people. Most of my customers were merely brusque, but two stick out: Fry Lady and Condescending Father.

Fry Lady seemed all right to begin with. She came in about mid-shift and asked to look at a menu, made a smallish order, and proceeded to sit at the counter to wait. Unfortunately for her, the rest of the restaurant was busy, and we had most inept (least ept?) grill cook working tonight.

For some reason, Teenage Cook cannot handle more than two orders at a time. Or he can’t handle making carryout orders at the same time as in-house orders. I’m not sure what his problem is, really, except that he always does carryout orders last.

Teenage Cook was coupled with New Cook, who was working the fryer. New Cook is pretty fast, at least as a fry cook, so the fries the lady ordered were done well before the Signature Burgers. This meant they were sitting out, getting cold, while Teenage Cook was making every order but mine.

Now, from the counter area, customers are able to see into the kitchen. Fry Lady could see those fries sitting there and was understandably perturbed. She came to the register to speak to me.

“Are those fries still hot? They’ve been sitting there a long time.” More like three or four minutes, but at this point, I was still on her side. It does not take 15 minutes to make 2 burgers and an order of fries. I went to check and see if they were still hot—thankfully, they were, and I informed her as such.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t want them if they’re not hot.”

“I assure you ma’am, I just checked them, and they’re definitely still hot.”

“If you’re sure…I don’t want them if they’re not hot!” Yes, you just told me that.

About a minute or two later, my food finally came out. I boxed it up as quickly as possible and rushed it out to her. Despite apologizing for the wait, needless to say, I was met with more bitchery about the fries. She snapped at me, practically threw her money at me, and stormed out.

Worse than Fry Lady, however, was Condescending Father. This “gentleman” is one of my least favorite regulars. He always pulls up to the window in his black SUV with his four bratty children in tow. Said children like to hang their heads out the windows like dogs and scream at me.

Despite having ordered from us repeatedly, CF doesn’t know our menu (though he thinks he does), apparently thinks we’re McDonald’s, and always speaks to me in the most condescending tone imaginable. Imagine a typical Midwestern upper-middle class WASP speaking to a mentally challenged five-year-old and you’ve got his inflection.

“I want four kids chicken nuggets…” Chicken fingers. “All with fries, and those come with drinks, right?” Wrong. “Fine, I want four…no, five vanilla cokes…”

“LARGE vanilla cokes!” one of his children screams from the back window.

“Yeah, LARGE! We want LARGE vanilla cokes!” the others begin chanting, as I’m trying to take this order. CF does nothing to quiet them. “And then I want a kids cheeseburger meal…”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a kids cheeseburger meal.”

“Fine, then just give me a cheeseburger and another two fries. And put my ketchup in a container instead of packets, will you? Thanks.” His “thanks” is as condescending as the rest of his speech. But the condescension isn’t the worst part. The worst part about this guy is he’s a Starer.

Starers are a subspecies of Campers who, as the name suggests, sit and stare at me the whole time they’re there. This is understandably annoying and unnerving at times, and is the biggest contributor to my anxiety at work. I’m not sure why they do it, other than the ones whose stares turn to glares whenever I stop moving or go to help another customer. Weren’t these people ever taught it’s rude to stare?

While these two were the worst, almost all of my customers today were rude, as I said. I don’t understand it at all. As long as you’re polite, I am 100% on your side. I will see to it that your order is perfect. I will yell at the cooks for taking too long. I will do all sorts of stupid things, like I did last night for the guy who wanted a single milkshake split into 3 small cups ten minutes before close. It was annoying, but he was friendly—almost apologetic—and he tipped me for it. Condescending Father? I hope his kids enjoyed their butter-less rolls.

The only good part of last night came at closing time. A couple guys pulled up right after we locked the doors. I opened the window and told them we were closed.

“Awwwwww…really?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“We just wanted two milkshakes.” HA! No, sorry, Sister A (one of three sisters who waitress at The Restaurant) had already cleaned the milkshake machine three times because I kept getting milkshake orders. Still, they persisted.

“You close at 8:00, right?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s not 8:00 yet! We want milkshakes!” Oh no, don’t try to pull that one on me.

“I’m sorry, it’s 8:00 in here. Come back tomorrow.” And I closed the window. I love saying “no” to people like that.

Sorry for the long post. I’m sure Thursday’s will be shorter, though it’s N’s last day, so there may be some shenanigans. Be sure to check and see!