THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

Today was a slow day at the Restaurante y Cantina, so I had plenty of time to think. Think about all the things that annoy me. Why annoying? Because I've been in that kind of mood lately, annoyed. So I'm now going to pass this annoyance on to the rest of you, hoping that you will bask and revel in the cold, horrid and annoying haze of it all, as I have been so priveleged to do. Enjoy!

Annoyance 1: People who beckon you to their table by waving frantically, declaring they are ready to order, and then proceed to make you stand there while they "ummm, I think I'll have, the ummmm, hmmmm, let's see". Give me a fucking break.

Annoyance 2: Tables that flag you down every few minutes to burden you with yet another ridiculous demand: another napkin, more ice for an ice tea that is three quarters of the way full, a refill for a beverage that is also three quarters of the way full, etc. But that's not the annoyance, no. It's what the annoyers preface their requests with. "Um, I'm sorry, I hate to do this, I hate to be THAT person, but could you..." Liar, liar, liar. If you were sorry, or hated to do this, or hated being that person, then you WOULDN'T DO IT!

Annoyance 3: You offer to refill the drink of a customer at a table. You don't ask the others because their drinks are still pretty full. But as you return to the table of 7, bearing a refill for one person, two more rapidly inhale their drinks and ask for refills. "Anyone else?" you ask. The response is no. But then you return, and those Annoying Others say, "You know, we think we will have another." Are you fucking kidding me?

Annoyance 4: Parents who let their toddlers make insane messes. I know babies are messy, I'm not mad, they're babies. But come on, Moms,would you let your babies throw food, chew up all the crayons and smash beans all over the table at home WITHOUT CLEANING IT UP? Yes, it's hard being a mom, especially if you are a mom to more than one kid. But just because you are not at home, and you don't have to clean up behind them, doesn't mean it's ok to let your kid run wild. This is not Chuck E. Cheese.

Annoyance 5: Last, but most definitely not least. Email, and the boyfriends that break up with you using them. Oh yes, my friends, my boyfriend broke with me. With an email. It's amazing how you think you know someone, how you can fall in love with someone who doesn't really exist. And then they crush you, and don't even have the cojones to do it to your face. Ah, mi vida. The drama.
I wish it were a mere annoyance. But right now it hurts too much.

YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS

Crazy afternoon. I'm rushing around the bar at happy hour, serving rum and cokes, sloshing Budweisers. It's an unexpectedly warm fall day in my town, and people have packed into the Cantina to cool off the best way possible.

"I just love these Indian summer days, don't you?" a haggered, over-made up blonde says to a dried-out, over-made up brunette sitting across from her. I hate the term "Indian summer." What does that mean and where did it come from? (If anyone knows, fill me in.) Besides, I have a strong feeling that Indians aren't too stoked when they hear it.

So Im running in circles, doing my best to keep everyone's thirst quenched. I go past a corner booth and am suddenly assaulted by the foulest odor. I look: there is a man peeling off his socks. As I continue to stand there in shocked disgust, he proceeds to start massaging his bare feet.

Think I might barf.

One of the regulars starts loudly slurping the remainder of his drink, which is my cue to hightail it over to him with a refill. Im quickly sucked back into the daze of work. Until...

"Hey, you got any paper towels?"
It's Funky Foot Massager.
I tear off a couple sheets, and walk over to his booth, already knowing I've made a big mistake.
And I was right.
As I stand there breathing out of my mouth to avoid the pungent odor no one else sems to notice, he dips one of the paper towels into his glass of water and begins to clean between his toes.

Now I will barf.

That was it.
"Sir, you're going to have to do that in the bathroom," I tell him, still not able to turn away from this disgusting spectacle.
But he ignores me.
"Sir, you're going to need to..."
"Hey, look, Im done, alright?" He barks this at me as though I'm the one displaying completely inappropriate behavior in a bar. By this time the odor has wafted beyond his little corner. Ms. Indian Summer loudly demands to know 'what that horrible smell is', while Dried Up Brunette is frantically waving her hand back and forth in front of her nose. (I've always wondered what that is supposed to do, exactly.)
Massager is now putting his socks and shoes back on, all the while mumbling about how if his friend Ronoldo was here (one of the owners who is a sometimes-bartender and all-the-time borracho) he would be left alone. (Name dropping in a Mexican resturant bar? Sad. And unfortunately, it happens quite frequently.)

Whatever.

So I give him his tab and continue working.
Later, I go to clear his table and found he's been kind enough to leave me his $7.25 tab in quarters, nickels and dimes, as well as the balled up paper towels he used to wash his feet.
I laugh. There is no way in hell Im going to touch any of that.
His friend Ronaldo can deal with it when he gets here.

BEGINNINGS

God, people are strange.

And the stranger they are, the more they want to come to my restaurant.

I am a bartender and sometimes-server at a suburban, family-owned Mexican restaurant. I'm also a college student. This job provides me with the flexibility of schedule and income that I need to comfortably pursue my degree. This is why I continue to work at this sometimes tolerable, many times God-forsaken establishment. I repeat this to myself, mantra-style, at least 8 times a day. I have been a server for several years now, having worked at places ranging from three-ring circus, corporate, big-box eateries to sniff-the-cork, nose-in-the-air, "oh you mean, brus-KET-ta!"-type bistros. But the place I work now is unlike any place I've ever worked, been to, seen, or even heard of.

I know that waiter-blogs are all the rage now, (I am thoroughly addicted to waiter rant and The Barmaid Blog) but Ive been writing about this stuff for so long now, I figured I might as well make it public. Not as if anyone will actually read it, but...

Here goes.

Oh, and if you're looking for introspection, thoughtfulness, or serving-experience-as-life-analogy, you'll find none of that here. The majority of my customers drive me nuts, and Im only here to tell you just how much.