Certainly with a smile

This fall, I was thrilled to discover that I was not the only one who, all smiles and happy nods, used the phrase "Certainly!" when they really meant "You stupid jerk/screw you/you demanding wench." Etc.

I'd been recounting a story of some really bitchy group of women, and when I came to the part where I said, "Ceeeertainly," my colleague piped up, "Ha! I say that too! It means 'fuck you!'" Before this, I hadn't really been aware of how often I said this word, and how I usually meant something else. It's my little way of coping, of maintaining some insanity when a customer astonishes me with ignorance or impoliteness.

Only once did I suspect a customer was on to me. The "lyyyyy" lingered for five seconds and my token accommodating servant smile crossed into utterly insincere, betraying my dismay at this rude, intolerable woman's demands and criticisms of the menu. She stared at me as if I had actually cursed, and I knew I was found out. And I was glad.

I'm certain I'm not the only one who has this kind of secret synonym - maybe behind all the "My pleasure"s, "Right away"s, and "Of course,"s you've got a cornucopia of cursewords designed to relieve some of the pressure of high demands and unreasonable requests that are so common in restaurants, cafes. It's why I try hard to be liberal with saying "please, if you wouldn't mind, is it at all possible, sorry to bother you, thank you." Seems obvious, but surprisingly lacking a lot of the time. You know you're in trouble if someone replies "Certainly" with a suspiciously toothy grin.

What's in a schedule?

There are seven days in the week. At worst, I'll have to work for five of them. But when it's Sunday night, and I don't know which five days those might be for the coming week, I get kind of annoyed.

It sorta makes a girl feel like she's sitting around the house waiting for a boy to call for a date, but that boy doesn't really respect her enough to give her advance notice of when that might be, or what time she should meet him. In this case, it's a date she's getting paid to go on, but still....Is it only in the restaurant industry that your schedule's not made until the last possible minute? At previous places of employment, the schedule for the next week would come on Friday, and I thought that was bad. It's frustrating to have to put off making other plans because I'm waiting around to know what days I have to show up at work. Not that I have other plans, really. But that's not the point!

If only dating was actually my full time job. But I hear the tips aren't very good in that line of work.

Sullivan Nod? More like Sullivan Fraud.

I have yet to master this so-called Sullivan nod. People look at me strangely and ask if I have a pain in my neck. Or suggest getting my bangs trimmed. Or become suspicious if I'm on drugs or have a random tick.

Yes, the subtle ten to fifteen degree nod that is supposed to subconsciously encourage customers to purchase a more expensive item from a list, I really need to work on.

My "Tap water or would you prefer sparkling mineral water?" I ask with a shifty eyed head swivel.

"Absolut martini, Stoli martini, or Greeey Goooose?" ends with me resting my chin in my chest like a snoozing pigeon and their request to sit at the bar after all.

I read the daily specials, punctuating the pricy duck confit with a crafty head twitch. Everyone orders pasta.

I've had enough of this bobble-head routine.

Sullivan, whoever you are, I think you're full of it.

I Shall Withold the Pickle

There is a man named Bob Farrell and he makes instructional videos for the service industry. I want to make this man go away. He is old and grinning and moaning, "Give emmm the pickle! Just give em the pickle!" and I despise him. The pickle is some metaphor for giving people what they want, the little extras make all the difference, blah blah.

In addition to loosely handing out pickles for all, Bob Farrell wants to "Make serving people your number one priority." As if this is some kind of holy revelation that will inspire servers, who serve people, to really rethink the true meaning of their jobs. He then proceeds to tell an anecdote about terrifying a bank teller by ripping the chained pen off of the desk when she explains that because people steal pens they have to permanently affix them. Receives hearty chuckle for whipping out a pen dangling from its chain and holder.

I bet you anything Bob Farrell only tips twelve percent on a good day.

www.dailymotion.com/video/x3dnb_give-em-the-pickle_business

Typso on Menus

Recently I was reminded of my intense dislike for people who print menus that have been insufficiently spell-checked. And it's not even like I looked at this menu once, sneered, and don't have to look at it again. I can't, because it's at my new job.

As the new girl at a place where early December is proving to be quite slow, I use gazing at the menu as a way to justify leaning against the bar. I am memorizing, I am learning the items. Occasionally I'll ask a question about substitutions or allergies. But what I really want to know is how the heck do you not get someone to proofread the final copy before laminating your menus?

Spelling errors look unprofessional, highlight a lack of attention to detail and suggest a level of incompetence. It doesn't matter that probably one person was responsible for the mistake - do you want someone unprofessional and incompetent who overlooks details to bring you food and ring your credit card through?

Every time I practice my "new girl learning the menu" routine, I can't help but glance at the misspelled words and cringe. The offending mistakes? "Vodak" and "Anitpasto"

I Need A Goddamn Pen

There are never enough pens. I've started guarding my pens ferociously, because I despise that panicky feeling when I have to return someone's credit card slip and there's not a writing utensil to be found. I also think it's really tacky to give an ugly pen, a coloured pen, or a pencil as the object which is probably going to record my tip.

But why are there never enough? The pens we have kicking around are not snazzy enough to steal. I usually get the pen back that I gave. But then where does it go? Some freaky pen void, apparently. I also hate pens without lids. I kept finding pen lids in the garbage, and flipping out about it. Finally the offending lid disposer confronted me, saying she hated pens with lids. Infuriating to discover 17 discarded lids and no pens.

Someone made a trip to the dollar store and loaded up on pens. These hastily exploded on my hands, and stopped writing after two usages. Some wouldn't write at all. Someone posted a pen incentive: free breakfast for the one who scrounged up the most pens. A handful of matching pens appeared, but the clicky mechanisms all broke and the pens were rendered useless.

I need to eliminate this pen stress. Pending a solution...I'll start memorizing all orders, and customers will only leave cash. I'll have to pensively consider this dilemma a little further. Any pen puns are appreciated.

Don't Let Grandma Pay

Maybe Grandma's spoiled you for your entire life. Or maybe she's never been nice and is finally trying to show some generosity by taking you and your family out for a lovely dinner. This should not be allowed to happen, unless the following conditions apply:

• Grandma can foot the bill, but the gratuity must be supervised. A subtle peek to ensure that the minimum 15% has been applied will do. If you're on close terms, you can remind her that the going rate for tipping has in fact changed since WWII.
• Make sure you bring cash with you to the dinner. This is essential when you have to slip the server a crisp bill when Grandma has provided nothing over 10%.

Truth be told, you really shouldn't be letting your grandmother pay for anything at all. She's had a long, difficult life and she deserves to be treated a lot more than you do. Conversely, if you do wave away her credit card, make sure she doesn't get away with saying, "Well I'll take care of the tip then, dear." Unacceptable - unless she's a liberal 20% tipping kind of grandmother, of course.