per aspera ad astra

Another rant, as per my usual.

Let me preface this that there is a writer for my local newspaper who ridicules the part of workforce that relies on tips [eg: waiters!] because he himself is notorious for being an ass in such establishments, and people who have waited on him have gotten fed up and called him out on his cheapskate bullshit [such as a $3 tip on a $65 check, etc]. He makes a point of writing sarcastic, moronic articles that can be taken as downright offensive if you’re in a position in which you rely on them as your source of income. [Here, typically, the hourly wage for people waiting tables is $2.13; your income, solely, is based on your tips; that $2.13/hr covers tax stuff--and that's all.] In fact, in yesterday’s paper, he had wrote a quite lengthy article about how, “appalling,” it is that everyone who makes low wages be tipped on the sales they bring in–like a salesman at an electronics store selling a $4,500 television. “How appalling,” he mused, “that that consumer wouldn’t fork over a $675 tip to the fellow who helped him to make the choice. Rather, this young man deserved a 20% tip for lugging it across the parking lot!” Of course, what Donnie Johnston seems to forget is that in such positions, the salespeople do get commission, especially of of big sales like that. He went on to chide people for going to banks, cashing their checks, and then failing to tip the teller, etc.
In short, this guy is an asshole. Any poor service he gets, he damn well deserves, because he likes to fuck with the people who he deals with, and when people call him out on it, he makes a little show of it. Of all the places he’s been, here, surely the people he’s dealt with have deserved better. I just pray that he would come into my store. I really, really do.

To give you a really idea of why I’m irate… how is it that I made more on a moderately slow lunch shift on a Thursday than I did on a full-ish Saturday night? On my four-and-a-half hour Thursday shift, of the like.. perhaps 12 tables I ended up having, I made $53. That’s about 25% of my sales for the day, which was rung in around $202 and change.
Even so, I had two tables of rednecks stiff me. It isn’t like it’s the first time I’ve ever waited tables, and I go wayyy out of my way to make sure that my normal sass is very much in check when I’m dealing with people on this front. Everything they needed was prompt, refills were had prior to need, they even went on to say how nice and pleasant I was. One of the two tables had the nerve to go on about how gasoline is cheaper here than where he was coming from with his wife. Oh, certainly, and in all that money you’re saving on petrol, you can’t kick me like $3-5 on your $25 check? Psh. The other table had a toddler who they forced into a high chair [it was too small, and I recommended a booster seat, but nooo... gotta have the high chair] and proceded to ignore for the duration of their stay. Seven minutes after I placed their orders to the kitchen, they interrupted me while I was dealing with another table, snapping, “How much longer is it gonna be? I’m ’bout ready to leave, this is ridiculous.” As you can imagine, that was one of the instances I was at odds with my mouth…but I told them, instead, “I can see how much longer our cook says, but I’m certain it shouldn’t be more than three or four minutes. I can box it to go if you’re in a hurry.” “No,” the man of the couple snapped, “just bring it out. I’m hungry.” I was struggling, honestly, not to tell him to watch his tone, and recommend McDonald’s instead if he needed fast food; that this is a restaurant and we don’t just have everything sitting in the back to be micro-nuked. Buuut I didn’t. Meantime, their kid is spilling drinks, hurling silverware around, shredding napkins, and still screaming…but the parents ignored him. They snap at me as I’m bringing them new cutlery that they need it–well, yeah. I was already pretty sure of what they were going to leave me before they left, but even so, I maintained a good attitude and good service. But I was right–nothing, plus a huge mess from their kid. Yay! Seriously, rednecks are so damn notorious for not tipping, or tipping exceedingly poorly. I’m pretty sure the UK and Europe doesn’t have such a category of people, but I’m sure chavs act that way in the UK, and…well, I’m unworldly and all, so forgive me. x]
But through those two tables on Thursday, I STILL made 25% of my sales.

Last night, I was expecting at least a $75 yield–and actually, I really needed it. However, there was some drama caused by another waitress who is friends with one of the managers, directed at my mom–and then inadvertently at me, just because I’m her kid. The stuff is actually baseless, as witnessed by the rest of the staff, but it still threw things off for the evening. So mom was all pissy, and that waitress skipped seating me like twice, and gave me a shitload of shitty people. I mean, this sounds bad, but generally you can see at the door what you’ll make. You can’t actually judge and treat anyone based on that, but you still get an idea. All those tables got sent to me. This is how my night went:

1. Party of 6; two moms, four kids. $62 check, plus a huge mess and running back and forth to boot. $4.65. Did I mention the kids? I really don’t like waiting on kids. I don’t *show* that, but I really don’t. Mommy wants to empower them and let them order on their own, but then, although they were supposed to have decided [that's what the extra ten minutes was for, and two wasted trips to your table..] they sit there and stare at the kids menu going, “I want, uhhhh, uhhh…” and mommy dearest just smiles, proud of them for wasting time. Or better yet, when they’re shouting and changing drink orders over each other. But mommy’s so proud of her little bastards that she forgets to leave a decent tip for the people that have to clean up after them.

2. Party of 6; all adults. Drinks maintained, carafes of coffee maintained, food was out like immediately because this was during a slow spell; EVERYTHING was as it should’ve been. They were all smily and, “Thank you, dear,” and, “This is been a nice experience!” Check: $102.12. Tip: $4.38. [I had a goddamn fit over that one.. I mean seriously.] Maybe it was because one of the party ordered this mushroom bacon swiss burger without reading the damn menu, and apparently didn’t like bacon. Great. The man who handed over the bill was all, “Ohoho, no change needed,” like he’s some fucking virtuouso of generosity or something.

3. Party of 5 seniors. Icecream&coffee, made their sundaes myself and had to brew fresh coffee too. Now, I wouldn’t mention that, but.. literally as soon as each Decaf and Regular had finished brewing, I filled cups and carafes. The cups hadn’t had enough time to really heat up from the coffee, and they insisted the coffee was cold when I took it to them. I went back, filled a separate cup, dipped my pinky, and burned the hell out of it. That goddamn coffee was hot. The 7.5 seconds it took me to get from the brewing area to their table I know it hadn’t turned lukewarm. But whatever, I made their cups toasty for them. But so, on their $34 check, $2 and the change they didn’t want to carry in their pockets. They also sat there for a total of an hour and 15 minutes after they had paid, taking a table in my section, and prolonging me from going home because they stayed 20min after closing.

4. Party of 2…and a half. Some smarmy woman, her yowling toddler, and her obese friend came in. But so, everything was peachy, everyone had what they needed, as always refills were had prior to being required, etc. It was one of the rare tables that could tell I was new-ish, but only because she overheard a conversation with another waitress. She was like, “Ohh, you’re new? You’re doing a GREAT job! ^_^!” Annnd after she gives me more smarmy nonsense and rude tones, and lets her kid make a mess of everything … the cunt stiffs me on a $34 check. It was my last table of the night.

I made $45 fucking dollars last night and I rang in like $427 in sales for the evening.

The other staff had been watching me since I am technically new, and they said that they didn’t see me slip up at all. I didn’t have any complaints. I don’t get why people have to be so fucking obnoxious, rude and ultimately, cheap. If you can’t afford to come out to eat–and that includes tipping the appropriate people as and if appropriate…and I make damn well sure it IS approrpriate–then don’t bother to come out.

Writer Donnie Johnston and others like him don’t seem to understand that people do live day to day. Well, of course not, he’s got this big farm that he rakes in loads from, and some other tripe, and he’s a staff writer for the newspaper. He doesn’t have anything to worry about. He’s one of the folks that thinks it is more than perfectly acceptable to treat people in the service industry any way he pleases. While it isn’t acceptable, he pretty much can get away with it…I mean, what can you do short of pre-empting him and fucking with him?

More people ought to watch that movie, Waiting. While it is a comedy, it conveys such a serious message: don’t fuck with people who handle your food. Don’t fuck with people who handle your car or your children. Just act right, damnit, and there won’t be any issues. But that’s just too hard for some people. Some people gotta make things so much more difficult than they need to be.

I cannot believe I forgot to write about this…gah.

Alright, in general, the way most teens–in this area, at least–conduct themselves in public is appalling…especially when they go out to eat. Most audiences of adolescents in restaurants run their server ragged, are rude, loud, obnoxious, and then proceed to neglect to tip their server. Having my mother be a waitress and having waited tables myself, I’m familiar with the hassle…and I cannot even imagine conducting myself that way in public, let alone an establishment like that.

In fact, there was a letter to the Editor of my local newspaper echoing his discontent and disgust with the groups of teenagers who have gone out on Prom night to eat after having witnessed one such fiasco himself. He began with the lack of manners of the young men: they didn’t pull their chairs for their dates, offer arms upon standing, etc, and generally weren’t gentlemen. He said that they would shout and holler across the restaurant, at one point even whistling, and otherwise use inappropriately loud tones and language for such an environment and evening. He then moved onto the young ladies who would apply makeup at the table, reach across others’ plates for condiments, and would neglect to thank their wait person [as did the guys] and dates for paying. Their language was equally foul and their volume just as great.
I read this article in sad agreement with the reprimands of my generation most their parents for not instilling manners and passable etiquette in their children.

I don’t act that way in restaurants, and if I am with a group who is, I do my best to get them straight. They would cry the blues if someone else was acting like a buffoon and interrupting their time, but are just as inconsiderate as anything. They also don’t understand the cardinal rule of restauranteering: Don’t fuck with people who handle your food.

Anyway, last Monday, after school, Kelsey and I took Kate–well, Kate drove, but we paid for gas and for the food–downtown to a nice icecream parlor and to get pizza from a small family-owned Italian joint that we adore, Castiglia’s. [Kate's boyfriend had dumped her twenty minutes before midnight prior...midnight marking their second anniversary. So we tried to cheer her up and such.] We were sat at a little table right outside since the weather was nice, right in view of the door, and already knew what we wanted–a large cheese pizza [Kelsey is a Vegetarian and Kate&I don't dig veggies on the pizza] and three Dr Peppers.

Eventually our pizza is brought out, we’re just quietly discussing random things, not making a ruckus or an issue or anyone. Aside from that, our waiter never checked on us, never sought if we might like refills for our long-empty drinks. We had almost finished our pizza by the time I went in and asked someone else if we might be able to obtain refills, and she rapidly obliged, and I thanked her. It took another ten minutes of wondering where the hell our waiter was–turns out he was sitting in a booth in the back of indoor part of the restaurant…text messaging–before I again went inside to the register [a whole...five steps?] to request my check.

“Oh…” I hear my waiter say as he gets up, slouching forth. I returned to my table and he eventually followed with the check, and placed it face down. At this point, I was very annoyed with him, and although his ’service’ hardly warranted a tip, I was going to be compassionate and leave a tip–not a great one, but still. I picked up my check [shoulda been around $17.40 including tax], however, at the end was added a Gratuity of 20%! This brought my bill past the twenty-dollar mark.

The only time that is done in the US is if it is a large party or if it is a very upscale restaurant. I have been patronizing this restaurant for years and have never been tacked with such a charge. Standard tip etiquette for decent service here is 15% of the bill…that worthless son of a bitch most certainly did NOT deserve twenty. Gratuity additions are not a compulsory part of the bill and you are not obligated to pay them if you don’t see fit. While mulling this over with my friends, a table neighboring us overheard and shared that they had the same waiter, got the same pathetic ’service,’ but was not outfitted with gratuity.

I approached the register where what seemed to be a manager stood and inquired then the policy of gratuity additions began. Upon overhearing my, my waiter was quick to the register, telling his boss he’d handle it.
“Will you? I was wondering what the meaning of this is…when it started…all that.”
“Well, see, we’ve been having problems with people walking off without paying or tipping.”
“Sorry if this sounds cold, but that isn’t my problem. You can’t make up for lost food cost by tacking on TIPS to other folks’ bills. You can raise menu prices, but that’s it.”
“I don’t see why it is such a problem anyway.”
“Well, for one, it is rude and poor business practice. Increasing bill figures won’t influence someone to stay and pay it. Furthermore, you do not make the final decision on how much is left, that is up to me. There’s no need for your worry…if you had afforded my small party of three remotely decent service, then it wouldn’t be.”
“Oh, so you think 20% is too much? You evidently don’t know how ha–”
“Yes, I believe it is very exorbitant. My mom’s a waitress. I’ve waited tables. I know very well how much of a hassle it is, and I know how people are. As a result of this, I know how to behave and how to tip accordingly.”
“But you’re young…”
“Oh, I see, so now you’re discriminating against customers by age…you assume that because I am a teen that I will screw you over and so you automatically gave me inadequate service. I’ll have you know that I was going to tip you, regardless, simply on good faith. But you’ve now assured not only that you get nothing out of this but that I won’t be returning, nor will my friends, nor their families. Make certain that your boss thanks you, and here’s what I owe the restaurant, in exact.”

And so we left.
And that’s depressing…I liked that place.

Yesterday, arbitrarily, my friend Kelsey and I had the urge to crusade against anorexia. Yes, it bothers me severely that people have the urge to starve themselves in pursuit of this falsified image of beauty that is promoted by the media. Ick.
It seems that everyone we knew who was no longer is, so there’s nothing to persuade against in them. So instead…we took to, of course, the beloved tubes.

Where, though?
LiveJournal and Xanga, of course!
Festering breeding grounds of attention-seeking self-starving people. Aww.

Stupid pro-ana blogs. They post pictures of these stick thin women–and of Mary-Kate Olsen in her anorexic stage–and call these pictures, “Thinspo,” a supercute term coined from the contraction of, “thin,” and, “inspiration,” in case you hadn’t gotten that.
Very clever, very chic.
One blogger called her starvation-ravaged body, “very anasexic.” I cringed as I read.

I wasn’t mean this time, though, I didn’t tell anyone that they were fat [my normal policy]. I made an account on each, found a few and began my little tirade of the fact that it was unhealthy, that their facts and reasoning were skewed, etc.

Of course, I had the typical, “ITS MY CHOICE AND IM SMART ENOUGH TO MAKE IT; I DO WHAT I WANT!!11?!” attitude.
Really? Apparently you aren’t intelligent enough to make the choice considering you’re spewing absolutely incoherent ‘facts’ about how if you’re consuming ‘a lot’ of calories [defined by her as close to 1000] and not burning all of that and then some, daily, you won’t lose weight.
Sigh.
And, “CALORIES ARE EEEVIL.” No, they aren’t. Your body converts them to energy, you dolt. You need cals; they let you do this really cool thing. “Oh yeah? What?” Um, live.
And then one is 5′10″, weighs 115–wails that she is morbidly obese.
And then, “Well, fat is unattractive! I want to be pretty.”
Sure–fat in excess isn’t appealing to most, but you still need SOME. Your target audience for attention, miss, isn’t intrigued by counting your vertebrae, I promise.

Shockingly I got an email correspondence with a few of the more level-headed ones. They’re, apparently, already trying to break the habit of this purging/starving stuff, but they’ve gotten ’so tied in’ to their ridiculous ‘ana support circles’ on LJ/Xanga that they’re feeling that it is ‘hard to let go.’
We’re working on persuading them to start by deleting their accounts to further move onto a healthier lifestyle.

I’m a fucking humanitarian, I swear.

Om nom nom. :x

Alright, so I have a weird affinity for dill pickles, mananzilla [spanish green] olives and things like salt-n-vinegar potato chips. Respectively, preferably non-Kosher [as Kosher ones tend to be gentler], stuffed with pimento and kettle-cooked.

As strange as it sounds, it is apparently a genetically acquired taste in my family, through my dad’s side through his dad. All my dad’s siblings like them. All their children–my cousins–like them [with the exception of one, but we privately surmise that he was born of an affair on his mother's behalf]. My siblings–including the half ones, apparently, so all six–like them. Apparently my nephew Jackson likes them too.
Yeah. Weird.

Between my ninth birthday and our move to Florida, we visited my aunt and uncle down there. At one of the supermarkets down in Pasco–Publix–carried Heinz ‘Genuine’ Dills. My dad and I had gone to the store, and he practically jumped for joy upon seeing them upon the shelf…and added three jars to the cart.
“Are they good?” I asked.
“You’ve never had a pickle,” he replies.

True story, these things were effing delicious. Really, that’s the only pro I could think of regarding living there for the year-and-a-quarter that I did. I sorely missed them upon moving back to Virginia.

On subsequent visits to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, where my grandmother dwells, I would stock up on jars of the sour-salty snack, being as they had a few grocers of that chain in that area.

A half of a year after we moved back here from our four-month stint in Las Vegas during my freshman year, I glanced across familiar label on a jar in passing in, of all places, a Wal-Mart Supercenter [yuck, i know]. So I sprint down the aisle in disbelief.
“Good God!” I think. “HEINZ, HOW I LOVE THEE.”
…I grabbed as many as I could carry in the event that they would be discontinued.

To my luck and glee, they are still a regular product there. That’s pretty much one of the only ways they garnish my business, but y’know…there hasn’t *not* been a jar in my ‘fridge since.

Psh, and people say pickles are gross.
How little they are! HOW LIIIIIIITTLE.

During my [brief] stint at Friendly’s, I mostly lost my taste for ice-cream. Weird.

–for those of you who aren’t familiar with Friendly’s, it’s just another typical family-friendly American staple-chain. Same burgers, Caesar salads, chicken…yeah. Jeremy likens it to IHOP [International House of Pancakes]…although it is really nothing like IHOP. They don’t have pancakes, and I don’t even know that that store had a waffle iron. I mean, granted, they serve breakfast, but only ’till eleven. ANYWAY, the thing that was the ‘appeal’ of Friendly’s was the ice-cream. No, a half-assed desert menu with some bland vanilla and hot fudge; they easily kick Baskin Robins’ ass, and then some.

So, since mom’s worked there since I was, oh, two, I developed an ice-cream passion. [Well, there was one in our mall, and she worked there first, but then they closed it and she works at the one she works at now.] I’d concocted this amazing sundae that, at one point, was made into an insert for the desert menus–I was there an awful lot when I was little because of my parents’ work-schedules and reliable babysitters were hard to come by, blahblah.

Fast forward to a bit more than a decade later [+cough+lastsummer+cough+], and I was made to get a job, and that was an easy one to get into.
I quickly lost my love of the creamy, frozen confection.
I guess that’s what happens when you have to work with it for 8+ hours a day? It gets to the point where thinking about it is sickening. Meh.

But since I quit in mid-December because the GM was an annoying prick who was playing Musical Hours with me…I’m enjoying my ice-cream again. :3

You’d think that strawberry ice cream topped with marshmallow and blueberry topping would be sickeningly sweet, right? I thought so, but then I tried it. Delicious. It makes one hell of a milkshake, too. :]

–I’m definitely glad I don’t have to worry [at the moment] about calories and all that jazz.

Cornflakes make good breakfast cereal, but they’re a pain in the ass. You can’t just eat a little bowl of them, or else you’re still hungry. You do, however, have to eat them quickly because they’re only good when they’re crisp…

Soggy cornflakes are gross and tasteless, murr.