If I Only Had a Brain..... da do da dooo da doo
Hello. My name is Donna. I work at a general American restaurant that is locally owned in Hartford, Connecticut. I have been working at this restaurant for going on 6 years now, and yet, I am still being treated like crap by the owners of this place. A few other of my work friends feel the same way.... which led me to the creation of this blog.
This blog is inspired by, (BUT IN BY NO MEANS THE SAME AS) The Help, the wonderful film and novel in which Southern African American maids told the truth about their bosses. Although my struggle as a waitress is by in no means close to these women's struggles, their writing inspired me to start to write about my own bosses. Maybe I could find other servers that wish to express the same sentiments.
That brings me to my first post, a small but powerful one about the dreaded concept that is DISORGANIZATION.
Today.... the University of Connecticut was holding graduation exercises. I worked the lunch shift and the dinner shift. The owner of the restaurant, a man that I shall refer to as "The Scarecrow," nervously alerts the 4 servers to the situation that is about to occur. From his explanation, you would have thought that we were drastically preparing ourselves for the zombie vampire alien blood sucking leeches spiders snakes werewolf skin dissolving apocalypse. I mean, of course serving 5 parties of 8 or more people is the same thing, right? Well in The Scarecrow's mind it is.
12:00 is upon us. Prime time for lunch business. The other 3 serves and I prepare ourselves mentally and physically for a herniated bloodbath that is to obviously ensue in the next 5 minutes. The other 3 servers begin to serve their parties. Mine, of course, as always, is going to be late, AND they have reduced their numbers from 15 to 8. So I begin to take a few 2 tops to make up for it. At 12:30, my party arrives. At the same time, I am waiting on a nice quiet 2 top who are already eating their salads. The Scarecrow comes running into the dining room, forces the friendly couple to get up and move. GET UP AND MOVE. I can't believe it. I apologize immediately. Fortunately they were so sweet that the atrocious gesture did that offend them, although it offended me enough for all of us.
So anyways, they have to move because another 8 top needs to be sat in the back dining room. So I serve both large tables, stress begins to decrease. WELL, my coworker, Warner, begins to notice that his 8 top has not shown up yet. Low and behold, Warner's 8 top were sat in my section because The Scarecrow was too stupid to read the damn reservation book. Which led myself and my dear friend Aretha to begin singing that lovely song from The Wizard of Oz, "If I only had a brain, da da doo doo da da doo," which, in turn, is how The Scarecrow got his name.
More stories to come, please follow and share!
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