Tacky or rude?

The other day, The Day Job hosted a meeting for a group on a day we are not normally open for business. On such occasions, if other people happen to come in, we'll feed them if we have enough food prepared, and usually we're happy to have other customers.

We had gotten everyone fed and some of the dishes cleared away when a young woman walked in with a briefcase and armload of books. She made herself comfortable at a corner table and was joined a few minutes later by a middle-aged man. Apparently he was interested in advertising something because they launched right into a discussion about pricing and such.

I'll interrupt myself here to say that we have seen similar situations before. We don't mind if people come in to conduct business over lunch or coffee. In fact, we do our best to accommodate them. Here's the rub, though: The two of them didn't order anything. Not coffee. Not dessert. They seemed annoyed to be asked if they wanted anything. I left before they did, but I found out later that they stayed until the meeting started to break up, and then they went on their merry way without a word to the staff who was still there.

To me, that's just rude. It's a restaurant. I would never go to Applebees and take a table to conduct business and not order anything. The fact that we were technically closed is icing on the cake. Is it just me? Am I more polite that the rest of the American public? Or maybe just a little too sensitive?

Day Job

I haven't blogged about the Day Job lately because there hasn't been much of note going on. Or maybe I'm harder to surprise now. This week had a couple of amusing things happen. Last Wednesday we had just opened and a lady called to ask if we could do a wedding reception for about fifty people. The Boss told her we could handle a crowd that size easily. I wasn't paying too much attention to her end of the conversation until she said, "Erm, well, no, we don't have a grill." Apparently, the groom was fairly insistent on having burgers and bratwurst for the reception, and his mom (the lady on the phone) said it sounded like we do 'grown-up food'. In the end the two of them agreed that we are not the right place to handle the reception. Incidentally, the groom is 23. I'm not sure about y'all, but I was a grown-up at 23. I was married and a mom at 23, and I didn't have burgers and brats at my wedding reception. We were laughing about how they had us mistaken for 'fine dining'.

At the other end of the spectrum was the guy who came in yesterday looking for a latte. We don't do espresso in any form; we have brewed coffee and a cappuccino mix. We explained to him three different ways that we could only offer regular coffee before he caught on and asked where he could get a triple-shot latte. (Triple shot! I'm a caffeine addict, and a triple shot would have me above ceiling tiles. I thought I needed to cut back, but I have nothing on this guy.) He was appalled to learn that the nearest place to get his fix is twelve miles away. As it turns out, he was visiting someone here on his way back to Virginia. After he left, we agreed he must have been from Northern Virginia; he definitely had an upper class attitude.

Funny how, in one week, we went from attracting rednecks to yuppies...

Walking infodump

I'm pulling extra shifts at The Day Job this week. Yesterday was not my normal day, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary until about fifteen minutes before closing. We were down to two tables--a three top in the front room and a two top in the back. I had most of the dishes done and decided to duck to the back for a potty break. One of the ladies from the two top was missing, apparently in the restroom, which was no big deal since we have two restrooms. The second lady flagged me down, so I diverted.

She must have known I was headed for the restroom, because she opened with, "My friend is in the ladies' room, and it's a one-seater, right?"* In five minutes she told me about the charity fundraiser she's working on and suggested that we could provide cookies so we can "get our name out there," told me all about the funeral she'd just sung for, detailed her ill-fated career with a company that does home cooking classes, and asked me three times about the Boss' name, which she got wrong anyway.

Her friend came back and I was able to escape. Undaunted, she latched on to the gal who was working with me. Then she went to the restroom, came out, and said she'd just thought that if we were going to do cookies for her fundraiser, maybe it would be fun to sell little cups of coffee, "like expresso shots!"** for a quarter or fifty cents.

It was fifteen minutes past closing when she finally left. I'm still shaking my head. Hopefully she'll go down the street for lunch today.

*Apparently it's all right to stop someone from going to the restroom if it's a one-seater, because everyone knows that women would never use the men's room! The truth is, I use the men's room on a regular basis just to make sure the toilet paper and paper towels are stocked up.

**I know, it's spelled wrong. That's how she said it. That's how half the people in this area say it, which drives me truly crazy. As near as I can figure, the logic is that there must be an unwritten 'x' in 'espresso' because there is an unwritten 't' in 'pizza' and they're both Italian.

Ohh. Yikes.

Wow, where did the last ten days go? Surely I've had something important to say in that time.

Hmm. No, apparently not.

I've been working a lot. I just finished a six day stretch. Mother's Day was good for the bottom line, but we were ohmygoshsofreakingbusy. We aren't usually open on Sunday, so we weren't sure how it would go over until the reservations started to come in. I think we served about 85 people, and I can't remember ever doing so many omelets or waffles. We had exactly enough waffle mix. Luckily, there were four of us to rotate dish washing. Also, we only had one annoying kid--at least while I was there--and he wasn't really all that annoying. He looked to be about ten, and he was playing photographer with a camera I wouldn't trust in my own hands. I had to go to the back room for something while the Junior Paparazzo was in action, and I made sure to scowl when the camera was pointed in my direction. At least he didn't run back and forth, and he didn't cry and whine. There's a lot to be said for that.

I'm off tomorrow, and I'm planning to split the day between Sword and Scabbard and sewing. I'm going to Mom's to visit in a couple weeks, and I want to have a basket of finish work to take for the car ride and/or sitting on the back porch. Rendezvous season is rapidly approaching, so I have plenty of projects to keep me off the streets. Oh, yeah, and I need to plant cucumbers, borage, St. John's Wort, and blueberry bushes. The beans went in last week; I did lettuce, carrots, potatoes, and several assorted herbs a couple of weeks ago. I'm holding off on the tomatoes a little bit longer. We're in an odd weather pattern that allegedly will resolve in another week or so, and I've got too much time invested in those daggone tomatoes to put them out and have them drown.

So that's pretty much it, in a nutshell. I know, the excitement never ends.

Reciprocity

It's been a while since I've had a blog-worthy day at work. Even through the holidays, Valentines Day, and the start of the shower season the weirdness factor hasn't spiked.

Until today.

Before the lunch rush, a guy came in carrying a bag from The Limited. The Boss asked if she could help him, and he said he hoped they could help each other. He had two pairs of ladies shoes, one size 9 and one size seven, and he offered to sell a pair to one of us for $2.00 and a cup of coffee. Fortunately, none of us wears a size 7 or 9! She offered to sell him a cup of coffee, and he said, "Oh, I'm sure you will, but I believe in reciprocity!" And walked out the door. We all waited until the door was shut and we saw him get into his car across the street before we burst out laughing. (And oh, by the way, I've never been in a Limited store that sold shoes.)

Later, a family--older parents with their grown daughter and grandson (who was about 9 or 10)--came in for lunch. They looked over the menu, and then asked the waitress if we have grilled chicken. Or boiled chicken. Or grilled chicken salad. I guess they thought that since we feature a chicken salad sandwich that we must have chicken lying around, ready to cook to order. Such is not the case; I don't know what they settled for. I was busy washing dishes. I'm so glad to be the dishwasher! They were high maintenance in general, and the grandmother told The Boss at one point that she wished we had some kind of chicken because her husband wasn't feeling well, which made us all wonder why they were out for lunch. (I live with two Typhoid Marys just now, but thank you for adding your germs to the mix!) He looked like he was feeling all right to me, though, when he came to look over our desserts, ordered a cookie to go, and ate it at the table. They were lousy tippers, too. I guess it was because we didn't have grilled chicken.

Other than that, and the fact that not one but two pieces of quiche fell apart on me, it was a pretty normal day. My hands were warm for a little while; they're not anymore, of course. It's still freaking February, after all.

Delayed weekend

This is me today:

I'm busy with The Day Job this week. Last night was our Third Annual Valentine Dinner, and it was a smashing success, which meant I came home feeling like I'd been caught in a wildebeest stampede. Eric called me at 9:00 this morning to make sure I was up, and it was a good thing because I wasn't. (Usually I get up with the family, make sure everyone has lunch or money, try to be a sweet and nurturing mom. There's a fine line between nurturer and martyr; today would have been a martyr morning.)

I'm heading in to work about two hours early today to wash the dishes we left and keep The Boss company, and I'm also working a shower tomorrow afternoon. Sunday is church and Dudley's Rush rehearsal, so while that could count for an 'off' day, I'm planning on having my Saturday on Tuesday. I just checked my calendar, and as of right now I have nothing going on until 4:00 that day.

Y'all have a good weekend and if you do anything fun, tell me about it in the comments so I can live vicariously through you!

Just call me Gracie

I've been increasingly concerned with sharp objects at the Day Job lately. When we cook, we soak dirty dishes as much as possible, and until recently, knives and other sharp objects were in 'general population', sometimes covered with water. I knew it was a matter of time before I sliced my hand open and said so to one of my co-workers. Always the inventive one, she suggested that we put a silverware holder in the sink for knives, which was a grand idea.

Today all the sharp objects were carefully segregated. Knowing something is sharp is only half the battle. The other half is to not get in a hurry while washing. I caught my thumb and part of my nail with a double-edged serrated blade. It bled like the dickens, but I threw a Band-aid on it, put on a rubber glove, and finished the dishes. I was pretty sure I'd notice if I bled through the Band-aid and into the glove. For some reason, The Boss didn't think that was funny.

*whimper*

I've been having web site issues for a while now. Eric bought me Namo for Christmas, and I decided to use it to rebuild the site for The Day Job. I've been trying to get it to publish for almost three hours. I've been e-mailing back and forth with Jatol. I called Namo Customer Support. I'm getting a headache and I feel queasy. It should not be this difficult. Lucky for me, Alex forgot he wanted to start going to the gym this week.

Serving suggestion: Red wine with Red Hats

We hosted the Christmas party for a chapter the Red Hat Society last night. I used to want to be a Red Hat; they're all over 50, they only have two rules: 1. Don't wear red and purple until you reach THE birthday; the under-50 crowd wears pink and lavender, 2. Have fun! Sounds like a fun group to me!

After having worked several parties of Red Hats, I'm guessing the amount of fun depends on the group of Red Hats. Some are polite and genteel. Others get together to gritch with each other and treat wait staff like servants. Last night was the party crowd.

We don't serve alcohol at the restaurant, but it is legal if our customers bring it in, serve themselves, and take it home. We provide the glasses. I knew it would be interesting when one lady loitered by the door, waiting for her husband to bring the wine. As the waitresses were getting drinks, one lady asked for a glass of water and a glass of merlot. We had about three dozen ladies for dinner last night, and they started drinking like fish before we served the salads.

Of 36 salads, I got back three pieces of pear and half a plate of lettuce total. Dinner plates were equally polished. By the time dessert plates came back I was in the zone and had a helper, so I didn't notice if any pie came back. I swear, these women fast before they come! I have never seen groups of old ladies eat so freaking much!

Since I was up to my elbows in hot water, I didn't hear conversations, but I know they were having fun. It's probably good that no one lives in the apartment upstairs; they'd have been ticked about the noise. I managed to catch stray comments, out of context, no doubt. The one that sticks out in my mind was, "Oh, I love that! It's so sexy!" For a while it sounded like they'd snuck in the Chippendales. Good grief.

Maybe that's why I never have more than two drinks in public. I wonder how many of them will remember the party this morning.

Tips are my friend

Today was my last Saturday working for a while. Next week we're closed and the following week I go back to Fridays, now that our classes are done. It was a good day to work today. Business was steady, if a little late starting, and I made $22.00 in tips. Even better, the average age of our customers today was 50-something. Good day!

The Crazies have found us

I've been reading the Diary of the Food Whore and Waiter Rant for months, chuckling over their customers from the netherreaches and thinking that The Crazies must be in the big cities. Then again, maybe not. We had a bridal shower this afternoon, and while there wasn't very much unusual about it, the little oddities added up to make it a very strange experience.

It was supposed to start at 1:00, so it wasn't strange that there were people there when I arrived at 12:30. What was strange was that when I came through the back door, a man was coming in the front door. A man? At a bridal shower? He turned out to be the bride's dad, and he was coming to blow up the balloons. Apparently it takes the better part of half an hour to fill 30 or so helium balloons that have little messages or something inside. We've never had balloons for a shower before, but we turned off the nearest ceiling fans and everything was right with the world.

While the balloons were being stuffed and filled, one of the guests came to the counter to ask if our iced almond tea was included in the drink list. The assistant manager told her that only tea, coffee and water were included in the price. She seemed disappointed and told us how much she loved the almond tea, but thankfully she didn't press the issue.

We served lunch--soup and salad, very low maintenance--at 1:30, in spite of the fact that four guests had not shown up yet. Again, it's not unusual for someone not to show up. These four did, however; a pair and two singles, the last at 2:30. Who shows up an hour and a half late to a shower? Apparently, the daughter of a control freak who didn't really want to be there in the first place. Her food came back untouched.

Did I mention the kids? There were at least three. I was trying to stay out of the room, so I didn't count. I know there was a toddler because he kept heading for the door. There was also a 7-year-old girl with pink ribbons braided in her hair and plastic high-heels; she insisted on clomping back and forth, chasing the toddler and scolding him loudly for not staying with her. She did not like the soup and salad, so she did not eat, which gave her time to set fire to the center piece on the table. Luckily a staff member was close by, put it out, and brought it to the kitchen to be drenched and disposed of.

After they ate, the picture taking commenced. I'm guessing that's what they were doing because while I was washing their dishes a pair of 20-somethings came to the counter and asked the assistant manager if we had any AA batteries. We made a show of looking; if we'd had any we would have denied it. For pity's sake, people, there are two stores within a mile that are open if you're silly enough to forget spare batteries.

Then there was the other fire. I didn't see it myself, but those who did said that a lady was taking pictures and backed up into a table accidently. The votive must have been closer to the edge than she'd realized because the back of her dress caught fire, and when she turned, she also got a ribbon on one of the presents. It was caught quickly, of course, and no one was hurt. It's a first for the restaurant, though, that's for sure.

To top it all off, they had to pop all the balloons they'd filled earlier to remove the extra contents, and they waited until it was right at naptime for the toddler. The crying was an interesting accompanyment to the exploding balloons.

Finally, about 3:00, the little girl got bored past the point of toleration.* She brought two glasses to the counter and announced that there were a thousand glasses left and people were starting to leave. We were happy about that; we were ready to get the rest of the dishes so we could get out of dodge. Unfortunately, her assessment wasn't quite accurate. The ladies were happily milling around, visiting, and I was able to clear out a half dozen glasses before I retreated to the safety of the kitchen. It was another twenty minutes or so before they had cleared out sufficiently to see which glasses were abandoned and which still had owners.

Needless to say, the door wasn't fully shut behind the last guest before the assistant manager was reaching for the key to lock the doors. And, oh happy day, we have another party on Tuesday. I need to see what wine I have left in the fridge.


*I developed a theory about kids today. We don't teach them to be bored anymore. We bombard them with stimuli while they are still in utero, all in the name of making them smarter. OK, maybe they're smarter, but that means they get into trouble younger. Smarter isn't necessarily better. There is a reason kids didn't used to start school until they were 6 or 7. They were home with Mom, beating pots with wooden spoons and learning their manners.