Bored?

With summer approaching, so does the slow months in this business, unless you work at a waterfront or tourist establishment.

So what to do with all the extra time while we're supposed to be polishing, cleaning and keeping busy?

Most restaurant staff is ordinarily comprised of kids in their early 20's and, let's face it, not always the most mature of people. So during boring summer shifts practical jokes abound.

Last summer I worked with two brothers, Johnny and Jeff, natural born pranksters. Employees were asked to drink out of small paper cone cups because glassware was always scarce. They would bite tiny holes in the bottoms of the cups so when people filled them it would leak out the bottom and all over them without them realizing.

Before they would bring out the racks of glasses they would saran wrap all the glasses together so they'd be impossible to get out.

We switch our names around, adopt accents (southern and British tend to be common favorites), and compete to see how many times we can say words like pleasurable, hot or sticky at a table.

Ice is a common instrument, slid into the apron or shirt pockets unbeknown to the wearer until it melts and your breast pocket is soaked through.

If you know how to work the computer system your restaurant runs on you can get out of the ordering screen and mess a whole bunch of things up that way...not that I've ever done that (in case of prodding eyes). Be careful of this one though...I know people being sued because of their misuse of computer tricks.

Let's face it, we're not making any money anyway so we might as well have some fun.

On Bosses

What do they do?

The simple answer is not much.

Sure there's paperwork like P&L reports and liquor counts and ordering and meetings they're required to take care of...but they're all things you could train a 15 year old to do.

Most of the time all this is done by one manager with an existent work ethic. In my restaurant in falls on my man Gates, one of the best bosses I've ever had. He's the exception to the rule though.

For a lot of us, we've been doing this longer and simply have accumulated more experience over the years. Managers, general managers especially, tend to be lazy.

The only thing we really need them for is the special swipe care they have to do voids, comps, gift certificates and split checks. Give us that card and you'd only need one manager.

So since most of them avoid all office work, what do they do when they're not at the computer swiping their card (tough work, I know). They stand at the front door, they smile, they chitchat with guests, they do table touches where they check in on everyone's experience, they stand at the bar and watch tv, they stand at the line and watch food be run, every now and then they'll bend down to pick something up off the floor (or otherwise tell a server to).

Good job?

People argue that they're necessary on the floor because guests appreciate their authoritative presence. While it's probably true that guests feel comfortable with a "boss" nearby, that's the guest's own problem of naivete.

Allow me to enlighten you.

Most of them have less schooling than we do. Don't let the suit fool you. They're almost the same age as the rest of us. My current boss is 31 and in the five year difference in our age, the only thing he has on me is children. They talk more shit about you behind closed doors than even we do, they're just more political about it and hide it well. They lie to you, they bribe you, they manipulate you and then flutter off to another table to do the same.

What are they good at?

Bullshit and politics. The best liars I've ever met have been my bosses. Dave, my boss 6 years ago at Vinny T's could convince anyone that God exists then turn around and convince them he doesn't.

When do they suck the most?

One manager I had went next door on a really slow summer afternoon and bought us all toothbrushes. He made buckets of Murphy's Oil Soap and had us clean all the woodwork in the building with the toothbrushes.

Another bought flashlights so he could check under tables and chairs and pretty much everything to make sure it was all swept and clean...not to mention that same manager was severely addicted to cocaine.

They're not all bad, but they're rarely telling us anything we don't know and they aren't doing anything we couldn't do ourselves.

What Do You Do When You're Faced With Pretension

On Saturday I had the opportunity to try dining a different way.

My family and I went to Groton, MA to celebrate Mother's Day. It's a very small place called the Herb Lyceum that's only open on Friday and Saturday. They're technically not a restaurant, only seating a maximum of 30 people, and have no liquor license so it's BYOB...or anything for that matter, since all they serve to drink is water...albeit MINT water. They only have 1 seating and it's a preset 6 course meal, so for those who have difficulty ordering, it's already been decided for you. It's really more a private dinner party than a restaurant.

We were 1 minute late to arrive, my fault of course and when we walked in no one was there. We opened our own wine and was told by the "hired help" (with a full glass of win in her hand) that the rest of the guests were taking a tour of the herb gardens because it was such a beautiful night.

Wine in hand, we all traipsed back out the door and went over to the greenhouse where the owner was talking to the other group who were dining with us about the various herbs, origins, growth patterns...and oh my god who cares?

Glancing at the other party dressed to the nines and listening to their bizarre interest in herbs, I quickly discovered that I was in pretentious hell. They went on and on with their questions which eventually transformed into hearty discussions about wines and the cellar that the leader of this dullard group has.

You probably don't know my family, but while we love good food (of all pretensions), we are the furthest thing from snob. We like wine, but are nowhere close to winos. My father has long white hair that he pulls into a ponytail and is one of the most avid dirty joke/innuendo telling people I know and he's only urged by my younger brother who's not so bad himself.

We left the greenhouse and my family huddled together at the edge of the walkway as my father turned up his nose and started pointing things out as the herb leader had inside.

"See these lustrous flowers here? Those are d-a-n-d-e-l-i-o-n-s. And this," he pointed to one that had turned into a parachute ball, "is a special one that if you blow on it all your dreams will come true."

We walked down the hill and paused by a tree next to the building.

"Ahh and see this here?" He looked at the tree which had one of its limbs almost severed and pointed toward the ground, "This is a rare subterraneous tree that is grown into the ground instead of above."

As it turned out some people didn't show up so there were only 12 of us, 5 of us and 7 of them, in this small room which was just an oversized dining room of these people's house.

So needless to say, we were entirely out of our element.

But what could have been one of the most awkward of nights actually turned into one of the funniest.

We were served our "amuse" which was some sort of smoked salmon cream cheese blend served over 3 spinach leaves and garnished with 3 orange-y wedges, followed by an appetizer of shrimp friccassee with asparagus. As each course is served the chef...Chef Gregg (the Lightning) Whiting (yes he's as lame as he sounds) came out to explain in detail how each dish was made and make pretentious small talk with all of us.

The wine was flowing freely and we were two bottles deep when the soup, pea soup with chocolate mint and cream, arrived and the night finally took a turn for the better.

Chef Gregg boasted about how he personally shucked the peas one by one for the soup and our inappropriate minds started turning. My father and brother and I entered into a discussion about pea skin, which inevitably transformed into talk about pea's foreskin and eventually foreskin in and of itself.

"Do you grow peas?" My father asked our "hired help" of the night.

"I do, I have a lovely garden." My mother appropriately dubbed her the pre-school teacher, due to her mild tone and mannerism and her seemingly all-to-innocent mind.

"Do you eat them? How many do you eat in a week?" My brother and I covered our mouths because we knew what he was actually referring to.

"Oh tons, as many as I can!" She gushed.

"Do you have to peel back the skin when you eat them?" My father can be really good at keeping a straight face.

"I eat them skin and all."

We couldn't help our laughter and she was effectively deterred from returning to our table for a long time, confused about my father's banter.

The two younger girls, who were probably the owner's children came to clear our soup bowls away and my father (five vodka tonics and two glasses of wine deep) lost his filter.

"I love having little nymphs flying around clearing our plates every other minute...nymphos I mean."

As we waited for the entree of porkchops with spring onions and spicy beans my father began to talk about his fat hand.

On Friday his hand swelled up so that it's nearly twice the size. After going to the hospital and being put on antibiotics, he still finds himself with a mutant hand and therefore much conversation was based on his freakish mutation.

"I can't even take death in stride, being a monosexual, with my hand like this," he held up his hand in despair as we coughed into our glasses. "But still, it's great being a monosexual, come with me! We have unlimited resources!!"

Before the people next to us could understand what my father was referring to they brought out the main course and my family dug in before the chef came out to talk to us.

"I see some of you have already started," Chef Gregg didn't sound upset but you could tell everyone knew we didn't belong.

"Mea culpa!" my father yelled, "Punish us for not waiting for you!"

"So I went with porkchops this month, but next month I think I'm going to do filet 3-ways," he was quickly interrupted by my dad.

"Ooh I love 3-ways!" In his excitement he hit his hand on the edge of the table and cursed, "Ow, I banged my hand...well I am a monosexual, it's like a hand grenade." I could hear some nervous laughter from the other table but at this point I couldn't have cared less, tonight my father was a dirty stand-up in the most unacceptable of places and it only made everything that much funnier.

We made it through the cheese course and dessert, which was my favorite, creme brulee and the wine bottles had effectively been emptied. Small talk ensued at the other table with the chef and wino extraordinaire and as we waited for the check a small window of silence opened up.

My father decided at that moment to let loose one of the loudest farts I had ever heard from him, that vibrated the entire room.

"From one asshole to another!" He yelled and we were all still laughing hysterically as we stumbled out of the strange place and all the way home.

Perhaps it was the company we had been forced to dine with, maybe it was the establishment itself or a combo of the two but it was definitely not the place for us. The food was good, nothing terribly fantastic that I'll never forget, but at least they didn't make us bring our own plates along with drinks. I'd like to say that it wasn't worth the $270, but my family made it a night to remember and I've never loved them as much.

Happy Mother's Day!

On the Other Side of the Fence

I always have plenty to say when it comes to complaints about my job.  But there's a lot to point out from the other side of the table when I'm the guest.

I've eaten at a LOT of restaurants and I've learned that good servers and restaurants come in all shapes and sizes.

The best server I ever had was at a Friendlies on Lincoln St. in Worcester.  She was an older woman with brown hair cut in a mullet and she was absolutely fantastic, genuine, pleasant, nice helpful, perfect.  

It'd be too difficult to name a favorite restaurant, but just to name a few...

Fugakyu in Brookline, Massachusetts ~ [Japanese] Incredible cuisine with a picture book to help make decisions along with a large specialty drink menu.  A lot of the seating is in the floor and tables are enclosed by sliding screens with seating up to the hundreds per party.

Texas de Brazil in Orlando, Florida ~ [Brazilian] It starts with an amply supplied salad bar (with way more than just salad) after which the real event begins.  Each person is given a coaster, red on one side, green on the other.  People with huge skewers of meats from lamb to steak to chicken come by and skewer you off whatever and how much ever you want.

The Sole Proprietor and One Eleven Chop House both in Worcester, Massachusetts ~ [Seafood/Steakhouse] Owned by the same company, they are great in their own specialities, seafood and steak.  The Chop House has great lamb as well. 

While there are many other restaurants that I like, many of which I can't immediately recall, these are some that make it to the top of the list.

Some recent and old favorites of mine (absolutely not exclusive):

Best appetizers ~ Mussels Roma at the Boynton in Worcester, Panko Fried Brie Cheese at Cobblestones in Lowell, MA Cracklin' Bread at Fireflies in Framingham/Marlboro

Best dinner ~  Gorgonzola Rack of Lamb at the Block Five in Worcester, MA (before they changed it) there's something fantastic everywhere though.

Best dessert ~ Banana Caramel Xangos at the Boynton in Worcester, MA

Best drink ~ Pear martinis at Jae's Grill in Brookline, MA and Flirtinis at The Sole in Worcester, MA and Heavens to Margatroid at Margaritas in Waltham, MA...okay I drink a lot, there's no way to name a favorite drink.

Best ambience ~ Fugakyu, The Melting Pot

Interestingly enough, these are all places that I've never worked, which is perhaps why I still enjoy them so much.

Sergeant Afrin

I hate politics.

Not in the sense of democrats or republicans, but societal politics.  

When I was playing softball in high school I was starting catcher up until a new girl moved in.  Despite the fact that I was on a national qualifying travel team, starting and had more experience and better skill, this girl replaced me my junior year and it's all because of politics. 

 

My parents were very busy and weren't always able to come to games or support the team as much and rarely even spoke to my coach.  This new girl's mom was all about involvement and with some careful maneuvering she was able to secure her daughter a starting position.

I hated it then and I hate it now.

It's even worse now that I'm older and I won't put up with bullshit like that, and it's abundant within my job.  

Sunday night I came in for my usual shift and was confronted by my sergeant turned manager.

"What happened on Friday?"

I had come into work and wasn't on the floorplan.  I had no sidework and no section and so I simply left.  There were 19 people on the floor which is what they like to have on a Friday so I assumed they didn't need me and began my weekend early.  

"We're going to have a sit down with Gary next time you come."  

No big deal, I was sure they'd just tell me to let them know next time so they're aware.  But five minutes later he comes back up to me.

"Go home and come back on Thursday."

Go home?  I'm being sent home for not working when they didn't need me nor did they realize I was even supposed to be working.  Interesting enough, when I came in for my shift on Saturday night nothing was said to me about the previous evening, probably because they couldn't afford to let me go that night.  

I asked another of my managers who agreed that it was bullshit.  This man does not like me, nor do I like him.  He's not the worst boss I've ever had but he may be the most incompetent.  I could run circles around him doing twice what he could do.  

So I understand what's going on.  I've been doing this too long.  He's fishing.  He wants me gone and so he's going through all the legal channels, pointing out the most trivial things in an attempt to get enough dirt to fire me.  All because we don't get along.  Okay that's an understatement, we yell at each other every chance we get.  

Bring it.

You can fire me and I'll have another job tomorrow, but that's the only power you'll ever have.  You'll never be anything significant or important, you'll never do anything worth mentioning, you'll probably never even get married or have children because who'd want you?  When I change the world I won't even remember your name but you'll understand just how much of a pathetic loser you really are.

Saturday Night Shitstorm

It's a Saturday at the end of school vacation week. It's totally dead and I'm dragging my feet as the minutes roll by like hours. I'm closing tonight, which is a 5-12 shift and it's only about 8 o'clock.

My boss decides to cut the rest of the staff, hoping to get us, as closers, more tables and hence make at least a little cash.

"There's a 12 coming in right now, take it" my boss smiled, knowing I'd be thrilled to finally to have something to do.

They came in, they sat, they spoke and I was instantly horrified. They were all foreign, exchange students meeting together for a birthday. The 12 turned into almost 20 as more and more people filtered in at intervals. In the meantime I was sat three more tables, one in my section and two on the rotation which meant that my tables were scattered all over the restaurant.

Most of the big party didn't speak any English, so they pointed and translated as needed which just took even more of the time I didn't have any of. A while later I was finally out of the weeds..

...although not entirely unscathed...

...and I dropped the check on my larger party's table.

"Can we have separate checks?"

I should have said no, made them figure it out, but they all had their own credit cards and this business from hell that I'm in requires me to say yes as often as I possibly can. So I spent 15 minutes at the computer trying to remember what each person ordered to separate the checks and then another 10 as I ran everyone's credit card through.

Most people would be grateful and compensate, understanding how frustrating it is to separate and run 20 different checks without warning at the beginning of the meal. But what did I say before...

They're foreign.

I'm not racist, but ask anyone in the industry and they will tell you that there are trends as to how certain cultures tip. And because of that I tipped out more than I even made on that table.

Suffice it to say, I hate these people. You ruined my Saturday. Please don't come back.

Framingham Phenomenon

A restaurant in Framingham recently went under a major overhauling as circumstances demanded.  As I've already briefly outlined, drugs are available and predominant in every restaurant setting.  Most of the time they're kept under the radar because most people are smart enough to either not do them when they work or they're able to hide them well.  

Some are just unlucky.  One manager I knew happened to smoke weed, privately and discreetly, with it never interfering with her job.  One server who happened to have a personal vendetta against this woman wrote an anonymous letter to the corporate office detailing her smoking habits.  She was asked to take a random drug test which she failed and was consequently fired.

Then some people are just stupid, like Megan, who chose to drink, and smoke weed and opium before she would come to work.  Needless to say, she was found out fairly quickly and fired even quicker.  

Then other people seem to have had their brains sucked clean out of their ears.  As it turns out, marijuana is one of the most popular drugs around restaurant staff, considering the high stress environment we're subjected to every day.  One of the managers at a restaurant in Framingham would sell it to her servers right on restaurant property.  This same manager also happened to be sleeping with her boss, the general manager.  

Perhaps she felt safe because of this, but she failed to take into account the possible appearance of the regional manager who lately has been frequenting the restaurant to check up on their dwindling sales.  

She was caught.  She was fired.  Half her staff that she was selling to were also fired.  The general manager was demoted.

It was a fiasco and a major taboo within the restaurant's company and came as a shock.  People in the business tend to be more careful, especially those working within corporate companies with strict anti-drug policies.  The fact that this has reached the ears of so many restaurants within a 30 mile radius has put everyone on edge.  Those who enjoy their recreational drug use are concerned about the repercussions and possibilities of a crack down on the usually ignored policies.

It's always a select few that ruins things for everyone else.  

Celebrity Sitings

Just to keep a running list of celebrities who frequent our establishments.

Jessica Biel

Jerry Seinfeld

Nomar Garciaparra

Jason Varitek 

Anonymous Massachusetts Congressman 

Ray Allen

Chris Evans (Johnny Storm from Fantastic 4)

Bill Belichick

Kevin Youkilis

Pinocchio Clones

In the restaurant business, a big personality is a requirement.  You have to be able to talk to people easily and make small talk and jokes at leisure.  You have to know your stuff, but what happens when you don't?  

We lie.

My roommate had a table of two elderly ladies.

"Are you seeing anyone in this establishment?" One of them asked.  

"Yes." She lied.  "His name is AJ." She pointed at the host at the front door.

"Aw, do you love him?" 

"Yes, I love him very much."  The ladies clapped their hands together excitedly and squealed like little girls.

"That's so great!  I don't see a ring though."

"Oh I'm only 23, there's plenty of time for that later."

"Do you both want kids?" 

"Yes we both want lots of kids." She held back her laughter as the ladies' smiles grew wider.  She introduced them to our friend AJ and they barraged him with questions which he was hardly able to field without her help.  He's never been a server and not exactly an avid talker and floundered miserably until he was able to escape.  

We lie about everything.

"Are you in school?"  While I could easily say, yes, 'I'm just finishing up my undergraduate degree at UMass even though I'm already 25' , I find myself fastforwarding to the future where I'm already in law school and I spin that story.   Let's face it, it sounds better and sometimes it's just easier to lie than tell the truth about ourselves.  

We have to lie to suit your personality and your interests.  If you're sitting in the lounge avidly watching the Celtics game, I'll find out some random fact and talk to you about it like I too follow the C's even though I don't think I've ever watched a whole game.  

We lie about your children being well behaved, about the gaudy broach you're wearing and tell you it's alright and we're in no rush when you take fifteen minutes to decide on a glass of water to drink.  

We lie about our job too, namely the food.  

"Yes sir, the carbonara is fantastic," minus the gooey texture it transforms into as soon as it comes off the stove and I'm sure without the ten pounds of salt and astounding lack of pancetta it would be good.

"It should just be a couple more minutes until your food's ready," except it will really be ten because I totally forgot to put it in the computer.

It's not spiteful.  We don't do it to be mean.  It may be a bit manipulative, but that's business and we're in the worst kind of it.

Evolution of a Mill City

Lowell Massachusetts was once renowned as a thriving industrialized city and a textile manufacturing center. However, now that we no longer require the original use of the cotton mills, many of the buildings have been turned into museums and exhibits protected by the Lowell National Historic Park. Not all of the buildings were preserved as monuments to history, though. Some, like the Boott Cotton Mills were transformed into housing communities offering condo and apartment living.

More than 75% of the mill buildings have been restored and converted and now encourages about 700,000 tourists to visit every year. They’re common places for field trips year round as busses bring children to learn about the industrial revolution.

Field Trips

You can take a tour by foot, trolley or boat on the Merrimack.

Last year the National Park service finished restoring the canal system that runs through Lowell so that boat tours through the canals are now open to the public.

Canal

During the 19^th century, Lowell thrived as a the country’s biggest textile manufacturing city, using the waterpower of the Merrimack River to put the mills into operation. Two hundred years later the mills remain standing but their function has entirely transformed. Protected by the Lowell National Historical Park, the buildings, gatehouses and canals have all been restored. While some buildings have been altered into museums, much of the rest have been converted into residential housing.

Located on John St., adjacent to the Merrimack River lies what was once the Boott Cotton Mills. While a few of its buildings remain as exhibits in honor of the historic mill as well as contain office space, most of them are now condominiums and apartments.

The apartments boast high ceilings with exposed brick and beams and extremely spacious floorplans. With its amenities and heat and hot water included in the rent, it makes for a comfortable place to live. It's located right in downtown Lowell within walking distance to almost anything you might need.

Bedroom

Living Room

“It was totally renovated in 2005 and it’s even more beautiful than ever,” said Jackie Gill, assistant manager of the Apartments at Boott Mills.

"The park service did a great job of modernizing the buildings while protecting the heritage they stand for," agreed leasing consultant, Christine Simsek.

While the National Park Service has accomplished a great deal in the past 30 years, they still look to future of Lowell.

“We plan to continue expanding the restoration and development of the old buildings and canals and improve and add more programs to bring people to Lowell,” said volunteer park ranger Mike Schaeffer. “There’s a lot of history here.”

Satan Wears an Apron

She's 5'6" and roughly 200lbs.  She has blonde hair cut and shaved shorter than most of the men I work with.  She wears thick plastic glasses and tight velour pants.  She pants loudly as she stumbles around the restaurant and moves about as fast as computers did 50 years ago.

Meet the devil.

She's worked in the restaurant since it opened 18 years ago, when she was probably about 70 years old, and has bestowed an inherent entitlement on herself.  She knows every guest that walks through the doors and makes it her priority to stop at every table and plague them with her evil.  

I saw a table of women glance at each other as Satan wobbled away from them toward the kitchen and roll their eyes.  

"You know her?"

Her friend nodded reluctantly.

"I'm sorry."

So was I.  Sorry that the devil has brought hell to earth and forced us all to swelter in the fiery depths.  

Everyone has co-workers they can't stand, but few are forced to work with Lucifer.  She is by far the rudest person I have ever, and probably will ever, meet, yet, like the devil she masks it with fake politeness.  

Standing at the service bar on a busy Saturday night waiting for my drinks I can hear her gasping breathing behind me and almost simultaneously a stubby fat hand roughly pushes me to the side to get her own drinks.

"Excuse me" she barks afterward stressing her annoyance at my being in her way and negating the compunction the remark is meant to bring.  Why would she even bother saying it?  It's the devils attempt at appearing human with common social courtesy.  

When I first met her I thought it was my own abrasive personality that simply clashed with hers.  It only took a week for me to notice the obvious abhorrence that both the staff and clientele held for her.  

Despite this, she's left to her own devices, management too intimidated by her to attempt a personality overhaul.  She's a permanent fixture in the restaurant, like the warped wood floors.  Been there forever, deteriorated and too expensive to fix.  So she continues on, warping the lives of everyone who has the misfortune of meeting her.  

Dirty Secrets

Many people don’t realize how much trust they place in a restaurant’s staff when they go out to eat, but is that trust warranted? They may be placated by the health code restaurants are obligated to abide by and the regular visits by board of health officials. However behind the swinging kitchen doors lies a cesspool of violations that, while not fatal, might make you think twice about eating out.

What we cut your pizzas with...

The Massachusetts Board of Health stipulates several provisions in an attempt to regulate restaurants and ensure the safety of their patrons. While most restaurants rigidly follow the cooking and storing procedures in terms of temperature and preparation which safeguards against many food borne illnesses, that still leaves a wide variety of things that can affect your meal before it even hits the table.

Perhaps the most violated of the code is the fourth condition that declares there be no bare hand contact with ready-to-eat food. It happens all the time, whether it be merely to rearrange the plating, or inadvertently while carrying it.

It also happens when we eat off your plate.

Yes, we really do. It may be a French fry or piece of calamari but it happens all the time. My boss went to a Fridays not long ago and he ordered nachos. As the waitress walked over to the table, he noticed a long string of cheese from the plate connected to the server’s mouth. Gross? It’s already happened to you.

Sanitize this

You run the risk of other things besides minor theft happening to your food though, via preparation. Has the knife that was used to cut the chicken for your salad been dropped on the floor? Are the hands of the chef clean? At one restaurant they make their own hand crushed marinara sauce. The man who prepares this is forced elbow deep in a giant bowl…without gloves…and very hairy arms. You weren’t expecting that kind of seasoning were you?

The dirty secrets that lie behind the kitchen doors don’t always go unnoticed, though. At the same restaurant , where the line is observable for any who want to watch their food being cooked, the sous chef absentmindedly licked his fingers and a guest at a nearby table noticed. Horrified, she outed him to the management staff even going so far as to call the corporate office to divulge his lack of adherence to health code policies.

Beyond the actual food you may believe you have little to worry about. But every aspect of your dining experience relies on our integrity and diligence. Is your fork clean? Are your condiments sanitary? At one restaurant, where oil is a fixed condiment on every table, servers are required to fill and clean these every night. Beside the table where this is done is the linen basket where dirty tablecloths and napkins are thrown. So to clean these glass oil dispensers we need only to reach over and grab a dirty napkin and wipe.

Yum.

At some places baskets are used to hold bread or breadsticks. These baskets can be found all over the restaurant, thrown at unsuspecting servers, falling on the floor, in puddles of dishwater, immersed in leftover food as its cleared from the table. Then at night they’re stored without being washed.

Double yum.

It’s not that we’re trying to be disgusting and reveling in our power to serve you nastiness, but when we’re paid $2.63 an hour it’s hard to care.

We’re not the only ones to blame though. Our managers can be just as irresponsible. At a restaurant in Woburn one summer we discovered we had an extra body “working the floor”, a mouse. My boss, who has since been fired was worried about repercussions and thus neglected to call and exterminator hoping it would eventually leave. We were under strict orders to refrain from screaming or calling attention to it as it scurried under our feet as we worked.

Still hungry?

Welcome to Reality

One of my first jobs, about ten years ago resulted in an icy plunge into reality. Growing up in a small, sheltered, almost Stepford community, my world involved only school, sports and friends. Showing up that first day, work permit in hand, I never thought I would uncover the dirty secrets around me

The Cast

Jose ~ cook, early 20’s
Nick ~ cook, 17
Maria ~ supervisor, early 20’s
Sarah ~ supervisor/waitress, 17
Collin ~ waiter, 17
Myself ~ waitress, 15

Disclaimer: names have been changed to protect the guilty

I never knew what to look for, so they were able to hide the underground mechanics of the restaurant for some time. It didn’t take very long for them to become comfortable around me and relax their secrecy.

It was during a lull in our shift one humid summer day and I was walking back to the loading dock, which was always left open, for some fresh air. Coming around the corner I spotted Collin sitting on a milk crate with a strange contraption in his hand.

“Hey…what’s that?” I asked, honestly confused. I’d never seen anything like that.

“Want a hit?”

A hit? Huh? No I don’t want you to hit me. He extended the device toward me, which I could now see was made of glass. I declined, entirely confused.

“It’s a bong,” he responded to my look. Still, nothing. “You know, to smoke weed?”

That registered. Weed?! Drugs?! I was flabbergasted. I didn’t even think drugs existed in my sheltered community. As it turned out, though, they were even more abundant than I could have guessed.

It didn’t take long until I was walking into the bathroom at random and I would find Maria in there with her husband, Jose smoking a joint. It made sense to me now, when the office door was locked and I’d see Sarah hunched over the desk through the window, white powder neatly piled in lines.

But I was 15 and impressionable and didn’t say anything to anyone. It was just normal when I was alone on the floor with only Nick behind the line to cook.

Eventually, I was doing everything from cleaning and serving to managerial duties and I was sick of it. Blowing up hundreds of balloons in preparation for our first family night, by myself as usual, I went out back to ask for help. Everyone was locked, huddled in the tiny two-person office and I snapped. Without a word I walked out and never looked back.

A Word About the Wise

I had originally intended on discussing my issues with the elderly after covering children. However, my grandfather unexpectedly passed away a couple of days ago. Therefore, I instead would like to divert from my negative diatribe and pay respect to his memory by discussing the positive aspects of our elderly guests.

What’s great about them is that they tend to come out to eat earlier than the regular dinner guests. This enables us to serve them and turn the table with plenty of time for the dinner rush, thus ensuring more money in our pockets.

Additionally, older people usually know what they want, or in many cases, can eat and take little time to order. Even despite all the modifications they have to make to their order, time spent at the table is typically reduced.

After the meal, few of them linger, eager to be in the comfort of their home again so the table is easily turnable.

Perhaps the best thing about them is that many (although certainly not all) of them are patient and understanding. They tend to treat servers as their grandchildren, eager for conversations regarding the server. They show genuine interest in our schooling, family and goals for the future. They’re usually easy to talk to and respond accordingly to smiles and politeness.

Although they may not tip as well due to their monetary restrictions brought on by retirement, they’re generally very nice and the most likely to sing your praises to management, or anyone who will listen for that matter.

All they really want is a good meal and friendly service which is really not all too hard to give, and it’s satisfying to know that this little bit you give can make their otherwise monotonous evenings enjoyable.

RIP SMA