A Little More to Drink

Working as a server really shows you how self-involved people can be.  Pretty much everything is “me, me, me” all the freaking time.  And while I understand that people dine out to be waited on and have that type of experience, there is certain a point where that sort of behavior makes me want to slap a ho.  For example, when the restaurant is clearly full as shit and there are four girls on the floor and I have one of those selfish tables that is somehow completely oblivious to me running my ass off to take care of ten other tables.  That really makes me want to shake people.  Dude, I’m busy, your absolute need for a seventh ranch dressing can wait 45 seconds.

Back off, A!  CREDIT.

One of the things that really, really annoy me has to do with refills.  I’m going to state now that it’s probably pretty lame, but it bothers me so whatever.  Allow me to outline the situation.  As I’ve mentioned before, I always ask people if they need a refill because I find it polite.  So say I ask dinner A – whose glass is the only one at the table nearing empty – if they’d like a refill.  A eagerly hands over their glass for a little more Dr. Pepper which I refill.  A bit later after having returned A’s beverage, I return to the table and notice B could use a top off.  So naturally I ask if they need a little more to drink in a question clearly directed at B.  That’s when stupid A busts in and says he/she doesn’t need anymore to drink.

Well no effing duh, A.  I just refilled your shit and unless you’re some sort of dehydrated camel there is no way you’ll already need more.  But believe it or not, I’m not always talking to you.  Somehow this happens ALL the time.

Now that may seem like a really stupid thing, but it really makes me cringe.  It’s just a perfect example of how self-absorbed people are.  And that just really bothers me.  Take a moment to pull your face out of that plate of wings and realize this isn’t all about you.  In fact, you brought other people to this restaurant that – believe it or not – might also be thirsty.  Isn’t that a novel concept?

So next time you’re dinning, take the time to have a little awareness of what’s going on around you.  It’s a great way to not look like a totally selfish douche.

Now how about a little more to drink?

Twenty-eight

Ariel is one of those people that doesn't own a TV.  It's not because she's an anti-television nut who thinks it's bad for your being, it's because when her ex boyfriend moved out he took every TV - even the shitty old one - in the house with him.  Naturally this means that whenever she comes over we enjoy copious amounts of shitty reality shows and Sex in the City reruns together.  It's totally awesome.

Recently we were having one of our couch marathons when the following commercial appeared:



Honestly the first time we saw this we had absolutely no freaking clue what this commercial was even about because we were too busy laughing our asses off.

"The average person has twenty-eight first kisses."

Before the announcer even had time to punctuate that sentence we both looked at each other and began laughing uncontrollably.  Finally Ariel found enough breath to deliver what is possibly one of my favorite Ariel lines in the history of speaking.

Ariel:  "Twenty-eight?  TWENTY-EIGHT?!  That was junior year of high school."


By the way, I've figured out the commercial is about gum.  Lame.

The Best Seat in the House

At Hooters I am trained to take my guests to “the best seat in the house – yours of course!”  No shit.  That’s really what the manual tells me to do word for word.  And as lame as it sounds, I’m all for it.  I’ll pull tables and make money like a champ all day.  After all I’m pretty sure that a seat at one of my tables probably is one of the betters seats in the house.  I might be biased, but I’m also awesome.  So clearly I’m right.

Now as much as I like to force people to sit with me, I’m also a firm believer that in a restaurant that is often without a hostess people should have a little bit of choice.  For example, I’m not going to force an elderly couple to sit at one of my high top tables.  That’s practically elderly abuse.  I’m going to do the right thing and ask if they have a seating preference.  And that is exactly what I do for every guest I great at the door.

So one day I was going my usual “would you prefer a high top, low top or booth” routine when I got an answer that made me squirm.

“How about where we can get the best set of boobs.”

Definitely NOT my reaction.  CREDIT.

It only took me two seconds to realize that he was actually being serious.  I can take a joke and most days I can even take total creep, but this day wasn’t one of them.  A response left my mouth before I could make even the slightest effort to hold it back.

Sauce:  “It’s way to early to be that crass.  Give me a break and at least save it until noon.”

As soon as the remark landed I braced myself.  It was a piss people off sort of thing that easily could have screwed me over for their whole meal.  I imagine I was probably wincing in a way that was likely less than attractive.

Yet somehow things went great.  They loved me and took care of me as well as I took care of them.  I had dodged a bullet of my own making.  Phew doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Just so you know, I don’t condone calling people out on their shit.  At least not all the time.

Reason #581

Ariel posted this picture today on Facebook that pretty much sums up my life.

Yup, that'd be me doing the daily specials bored at work.  Please ignore my strangely boney knuckles - I have skinny hands.  Anyway, as you can see I'm clearly overachieving.  It's what I do.

The best part of this post, the caption Ariel included with the picture.  It pretty much sums up why I love her:

reason #581 Sauce deserves a raise:

she gives a fuck.

Priorities

I was totally going to blog tonight after work, but my gorgeous new MacBook Pro decided to show up at my door.  As such my night was spent geeking out and totally getting my nerd on.

Sorry, dudes.  There are a few things a girl just has to put all else aside for.

I am Not a Man Stealer

I always, always, always make a point of helping any women at my tables first.  I do this for a number of reasons.  First off, it's polite in an antiquated way.  You know, like the Titanic.  Woman and children with a net worth of more than $10,000 to the lifeboats first, please.  But beyond all that shit, the real reason I do this is to avoid any and all belief that I am a boyfriend/fiancé/husband stealer.

Is that bitch a son stealer too?!

Lets not sugarcoat this; I work at Hooters.  Not only am I dressed like a bit of a tart - to put it mildly, I am a tart who is encouraged to be very friendly and conversational with my tables.  It really doesn't take much for that simple conversation to be perceived as flirting.  This is the whole reason we get so many phone numbers.  And it's also why a woman can easily assume what is little more than service to me is man stealing to her.

And that is why I do everything in my power to make each and every woman at my tables feel like a princess.  She is the special guest.  It's a simple thing, but at Hooters it's incredibly important.

Yet even with all that precaution some women still seem to think that me asking their man how he likes his burger cooked is some secret Hooters' code for me wanting to fuck him.  News flash, ladies, I already deal with one boyfriend.  I don't have the energy or the desire to deal with another one.  You can go ahead and keep your slob of a significant other.

So for the record, nine times out of ten or even 999,999 times out of 1,000,000 your Hooters Girl does not want to steal your man from right across the table.  Odds are all that "flirting" is probably just her doing her job.  After all, we're paid to be nice to people.

Of course all of this changes if your boyfriend is Ryan Reynolds.  Then you're totally effing screwed.

NOTE:  My amazing friends are in a contest through the end of the month to win an all-inclusive wedding giveaway.  I'm talking dress, location, food, photographer and all that other crap you need to get married paid for.  If you have a bit of time, please help me help them win.  You do have to register to vote - which you can do daily - but it seems a small thing to give a wonderful couple the wedding of their dreams.  Plus I'd get to go to a SWEET wedding!

VOTE HERE FOR RYAN AND RACHEL!

The Biggest Blogger

I need to be friends with this girl. Her name is Jenna and SHE. IS. AWESOME. Not only do I find her incredible sense of humor very much like my own, we share nearly identically eating and exercise habits. Now if only I shared her abs.

I Hate Uniform Fitting, Image Class and being a Total Bitch

Somehow I have become the "Image" girl at Hooters.  This means that I am in charge of uniform fitting and image training all new hires at my Hooters.  I'm not really sure how this happened, but one day it just sort of became my job.  It started with fitting one girl and then another and suddenly it was just assumed that it was my job from then on out.  And as much as it's nice to be trusted with a level of responsibility, it's not a job I particularly care for.

While it might sound easy to get a girl her uniform, it's really anything but.  There is nothing comfortable or fun about looking another woman up and down and determining her size.  There you are, alone with a nervous new hire and the first thing that happens is you judge the shit out of her.  You take in the size of her ass and estimate her cup size.  You look her up and down and determine if she's small or smaller or even smaller.  It's pretty much awful for both of us.

Then of course I have to make sure that the all the uniform pieces I chose for her fit correctly.  She'll already feel uneasy putting the uniform on for the first time and I'm forced to make it even worse for her by making her do "the turn."  The turn is a complete 360 that is meant to ensure everything is fitting where it needs to be fitting. 

In addition to making sure she's wearing the uniform correctly, I get to make certain her bum isn't hanging out or her top isn't giving her the dreaded double boob.  Trust me, there are few things more uncomfortable than looking at a girl and telling her she needs bigger shorts because her cheeks are hanging out too much.  No girl ever wants to hear she needs a bigger size - especially not from some girl she just met in a Hooters uniform.

All of this has made me very, very good at uniform fitting because in a situation full of awkward moments I want to avoid as many as possible and get my shit right the first time.  Of course even my Hooters uniform expertise can't save me from Image Class.  Image Class is a three-hour, intensive orientation where each and every new hire learns anything and everything about being a Hooters Girl and maintaining the Hooters Girl look.  This has also become my job.

Image class is where I have to tell girls they are too tan or too white.  I have to tell them their makeup is too heavy or too subtle.  I critique how they do or do not do their hair.  I tell them about proper eating and discuss their exercise regimen.  I do all that and a million other little things that I hate doing.  Of course I have to do it all with just the right amount of "I'm cool" and "I'm a total bitch."  Don't get me wrong, like I said, I love that I was given the responsibility, it's just not in my nature to be so blunt with people.  It's really effing hard for me in fact.

Tomorrow I get the joy of teaching yet another Image Class after a day of working the bar.  It's going to take some psyching up and intense mental preparation.  I've got to get into gentle constructive criticism mode.  Someone pass the wine please.