Today was Awesome

Yes, you read that correctly.  Today was a totally awesome day at work.  Not only did I have a sweet table of Korean businessmen who BOWED at me when they finished their meal, but every table tipped at least 20%.  And I didn't even have to wear a crown or sash.

That's right, today I was actually completely and totally appreciated for doing the awesome shit I always do.  Karma must have read the story I posted yesterday.

Curse You, Johnny Carino's

We are right across the street from a Johnny Carino's.  This generally has no effect on my life except when I get a craving for shitty Italian food, but the other day it got all up in my Hooters life.  Not too happy about it.

There I was serving a very nice man and his young son.  They ordered wings and allowed me to guide them to the best sauce choices and side options.  This is usually a good sign.  If you can suggest people a few sauces they like, they will generally be happy with everything else and tip you well.  I think this is because it shows both a level of knowledge and a high level of service.  It's like going the extra mile even though it's easy as anything. 

Anyway, I'd done everything well as the two enjoyed their meal and they seemed to notice.  They were happy and appreciative and a nice 15-20% tip seemed within my reach.  I was sailing in smooth waters as I ran a tub of dishes to the back.  And that's how long it took for it all go downhill right into a steaming pile of shit.

Returning the empty tub to the wait station, I noticed a woman and two young girls were now standing around the table as the boy and his father finished the last of their wings.  I went to the table to offer drinks to the new guests and was immediately shot with an icy stare.

Mom:  "Oh no, we don't want anything here.  We just had Johnny Carino's.  But the boys HAD to have wings."

Naturally all that was said in a tone that screamed, "I can't believe I'm standing in a Hooters and I feel dirty just being here."  Great.  Regardless of my frozen reception, I put on my best smile and was as nice as possible.  Of course Mom hated my existence so much  that my kindness was totally unnoticed.  I could have been Mother Theresa reincarnated and she would have hated everything about me. 

I tried to not let it bother  me and did a fairly good job until I saw Mom whip out her credit card.  Wonderful.  The woman who had no idea what sort of service I gave and hated Hooters was paying.  I was effing screwed.  Even with the impending doom of not getting what I had worked so hard for I continued to be nice as I took her card.

Sauce:  "I hope you three enjoyed your lunch over at Carino's!"

Mom:  "Ugh it was awful.  Just not what I expected.  They changed one of their sauces and didn't even tell me.  Plus the service was horrible.  Just awful - the whole entire thing. "

Wonderful.  Not only did this lady hate me, she was a woman who had just had a bad lunch and hated me.  Even the slightest hope of a good tip all but disappeared.   I couldn't do anything but run the card and make a few last ditch attempts at niceties.

But it didn't matter.  Of course that credit card receipt had a big fat nothing in the tip line.  And it wasn't just no tip, she'd taken the time to make one of those big, obvious strikethrough zeros.  She'd made it entirely  and painfully obvious that I deserved nothing in her eyes.

While I never feel like I deserve a tip - it is a matter of personal discretion after all - I was pissed off.  Not only had I lost out on a tip because of a dislike of Hooters, but I had probably also lost out based on the poor service at another restaurant.  It was a double whammy of total suckage.

Hey, Johnny Carino's, step up your game over there!

This is Where I Live

Yup, I live here.  As you can see it's a really ugly place.

Birthday Princess

Tomorrow is my birthday, but as I have Wednesdays off I celebrated my Hooters birthday today.  Basically it was the same as any other day at work, but I got to wear a sash and a crown.  While that might seem like a pretty small thing, it turned out to be anything but.  That sash and crown were total money makers.  Not only did only two tables leave me under 20%, but I even got a few dollars here and there from other tables.  I ended up making a cool 34% (not counting the $20 Barnes and Noble giftcard one regular left me)

Now before you go and say that isn't fair, I think it's more than fine to have at least one day a year when you're guaranteed to have a good tip day.  And dammit that day should be your freaking birthday.  I suggest everyone leave their shame at home and whore themselves out on their special day with a crown and sash.

In addition to becoming rich, my manager made me the most beautiful cupcakes.  This girl seriously hasn't had a birthday cake in probably five years and today I got these; I was effing stoked.  Check out these beauties!

Yup, that's a guitar made out of fondant.  Did I also mention they were filled with Almond Joy frosting? Yes, such a thing actually exists.

Being old is fun!

Don't Do This If You Want a Job

Today an ad went up on Craigslist looking for new line cooks at Hooters.  Naturally this brought applicants out in force for what I can only imagine is one opening.  It's amazing how competitive the job market can be even for fry cooks.  Welcome to 2011, friends!

Please note the absence of alcoholic beverages.

One of our first applicants sauntered in just after we opened at eleven and took a place at the bar to fill out the application.  As he began to write, I casually asked him if he'd like a water or something else to drink while he was filling out the paperwork.  Now usually I get one of two answers: "no, thanks" or "I'll have a water, please".  This time I heard, "I'll have a Jack and coke - you can make it a double."

Double Jack and coke?  I was surprised, but being as I really couldn't tell him it was a bad idea, I made him the drink.  I watched him casually sip and write his way through the first half of the application.  About the time he flipped over the paper, I asked him if he'd like anything else.  He asked for a Bloody Mary.  I didn't even give him the option of a double the second time.

The Bloody Mary went down faster than the first drink and as I grabbed the glass I once again asked if he'd like anything else.

"Oh I better not.  I probably shouldn't get too wasted while I'm out looking for a job."

You think?!  Better yet, you probably shouldn't even start drinking if you're looking for jobs.  If you really can't stop yourself from indulging, I'd advise not drinking at the restaurant you're applying to.  Especially not WHILE you're applying.  That's pretty much a sure sign you won't be getting a call.  Do all that drinking before noon and you can guarantee the phone won't be ringing.

I don't care if you're a raging alcoholic, I'd hope you're smart enough to not drink and hide that shit while you're applying for a job.  You'd think this would be one of those rules that could simply go unsaid;  Apparently this is not the case.  If it was the case I wouldn't have been serving this guy hard alcohol while he used his application as a coaster on a Monday morning.

If you're reading this, Mr. Drinks, you won't be getting hired.

If you're reading this and you're the guy from Georgia who applied I'd be expecting a call.  I put in a good word for you because you were nice and I liked your hipster blazer.

Well That's a First

I've seen a lot of things of Hooters.  In fact, Hooters is a pretty good place to catch the unexpected, strange and weird.  It's not a normal thing per say, but every once and awhile something will happen that is downright surprising.  Today was one of those kind of days.

My first table of the day seemed normal at first - a family with three young daughters.  After Mom helped the little ones use the bathroom, they sat down and I began my usual introductions and took their drink order.  It was while I was figuring out if the youngest girl wanted regular or chocolate milk that Mom began digging in her large handbag.  Slowly she began removing things from the purse.  A comb.  A brush.  Some body spray.  And finally a huge can of Aqua Net.

Now if you're a dude and you're unfamiliar with Aqua Net, it's basically some of the most industrial hairspray you can legally buy.  They call that shit "Extra Super Hold" for a reason.

Given the supplies now on the table, I figured Mom would be going to the bathroom to fix up her hair.  That wouldn't be weird at all.  Actually that would be pretty normal.  It was about the time that the very distinct smell of Aqua Net began to waft across the restaurant.  I say across the restaurant because that's how far away I was getting their drinks.  Yes, even that far away I could smell the hairspray leaving the can.

Making my way across the restaurant with drinks in hand, I pressed through the ever thicker cloud of Aqua Net.  I rounded the half-wall that marks our first set of booths and suddenly had made my way into a full service hair salon.  There was mom yanking one of the girls hair with the brush only stopping to spray the hair spray.  I set the drinks down, careful to avoid the direct line of the can.  I didn't know what to say.

Sauce:  "So do I get to be next?"

That's all I could come up with.  Over the course of the meal Mom did all three daughters and her own hair.  Right there at lunch.  I can only imagine how much Aqua Net all of them ingested as they downed wings and curly fries.  I know I  breathed in enough to induce a mild asthma attack.

Note:  Do your hair before you leave home.  Or at least leave the Aqua Net there.

Special Sauce

I returned from Europe over a month ago and I just remembered how much I wanted to post this story.  I'm almost 26 (next Wednesday) and clearly experiencing memory loss.  Deal with it.

After a night enjoying the pleasures of Amsterdam's cafes, my sister and I began trekking home through a soft drizzle.  Of course it would be far more accurate to say we were stumbling back to her flat entirely intoxicated, feebly attempting to shield ourselves from the downpour with a stolen umbrella of unknown origin.  Less poetic, but far more true.  There we were, at a time somewhere between three and five in the morning, wandering the streets of Amsterdam like too incredibly hot messes.  Two - as it just so happens - hungry hot messes.

Passing closed bakeries and snack bars, our hunger drug us on a wild goose chase despite being cold, wet and tired.  Nothing can separate a drunken person from food.  Nothing.

Then finally we saw the light of an open store reflecting off the wet cobblestones in front of us.  We hurried in from the rain to find ourselves in a New York Pizza.  Yes, there in Amsterdam two drunk American girls ended up in a New York Pizza.  Go figure.

But we didn't care.  We were hungry and promptly ordered two huge slices of what I can only imagine was - by sober standards - the worst pizza ever.  We eagerly handed over our money and reached for the plates in front of us when the man at the register casually mentioned that we should try their special sauce.  Soon we learned that this sauce was so special that it couldn't be found anywhere except for this very franchise of New York Pizza.  It sounded utterly magical and  I was intrigued.  How could I not say yes to a sauce so unique?  I had to have the sauce.

Thrusting my plate forward enthusiastically, the man grabbed a large, nondescript, red squeeze bottle from behind the counter.  I watched his hand grip the bottle and anticipated the amazing substance.  First a drip, then a pool settled next to my pizza.  It looked totally amazing.

Finally, finding a table in the back, my sister and I dug into our pizza and cautiously dipped our slices into the special, one-of-a-kind sauce.  It only took one taste.  We looked at each other and both said the exact same thing:

"RANCH DRESSING"

I traveled half way around the world to try ranch dressing.  And yes, I ate it all.

The Biebs

Yes, that is the infamous Justin Bieber in my blog's background.  No, I don't particularly care for Justin Bieber.  But I figured as people have started to notice, I might as well address his prepubescent presence.

So why the Biebs?  Well, Hooters' walls are festooned with photos of fames people.  And when you type "famous people at Hooters" into Google he's right there on the top.

Plus, Dreamy has an ongoing joke about how much he likes him that stems from people telling him he looks like Justin Bieber.  For the record Dreamy looks NOTHING like Justin Bieber.  Unless Justin Bieber is suddenly 6'8 and his balls have dropped.  Really Dreamy looks a lot like Ashton Kutcher.  Especially in that new movie with Natalie Portman.  Seriously, seeing that movie freaked me out with how much Ashton Kutcher looked like my damn boyfriend.  I could date uglier people I suppose.

Wow, look at me ramble!

Bieber Fever.