The most effective way to stop myself from editing an article I haven’t released yet is by starting a new one. That’s what this is—a new one. I went through my notepad just now to find something I thought about writing about at some point, this is the note that said “I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.” Easy enough. Too bad this notepad doesn’t keep track of things like when I wrote it or why and that brings us to the next sentence.
I’m trying this new thing out where instead of writing notes in my phone and then stacking them on top of each other only to never visit them again, I’m visiting them again.
A good friend of mine is an executive chef. He’s managed several high end restaurants, chain restaurants, owns his own catering company that caters to events hosting celebrities such as Jerry Rice and John Elway. I’ve dated waitresses in the past, I’m married to a bartender, the hottest bartender ever to be more specific. One of my best friends owns a few restaurants, I’ve wired up several restaurants and I’ve heard stories from each of them. I’ve eaten at a lot of restaurants, too, seen the reality shows, been there done that. I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
If I did work at one, someone else might be writing this article and I would be the inspiration—I’d rather be the writer on this one. I’d rather not be the one with a divorce whose in the process of a second, has a regional manager knocked up two towns over, two kids by two different hostesses, dating waitresses half my age and perfectly content with the whole thing just going to work like ‘easy come.... easy go, in at noon—lock up when the last customer pays their tab!’ I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
All I’ve ever heard is how hot the kitchen is. Nobody ever said “it’s freezing back there!” All sweaty in a sweaty chef coat with other sweaty chefs in sweaty chef coats—not sure if that’s sweat or olive oil in my eye while flipping burgers to an aroma that’s a cross between armpit, old bacon grease, and solvent. Two of the five waitresses have been taking shots all day while two others have a rocky love affair that’s affecting the dining room floor and the last one’s cheating on her husband with the owner’s sister in law—everyone knows everything about each other. Restaurants are gossip central—worse than a hair salon! I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
Ok, maybe not worse than a hair salon but pretty bad, there’s considerably more employees at a restaurant than a salon which equals more mouths that won’t shut up. Add affairs, nasty break-up’s, an occasional food allergy and countless other closed-door restaurant catastrophes and I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
Holidays off are a thing of the past, those are the busiest days of the year at a restaurant—all hands on deck! Dealing with drunk people who can’t count, can’t talk, can’t remember what they ordered, “I k-nose I horderve’d a celery spritzerishy thingy.” And the princess who wants to send her food back because it’s too cold after a 30 minute textcapade equipped with tears and a broken thumb nail—that would drive me crazy. I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
The toughest part would be coaching myself to keep my cool while dealing with all of these people on a day to day basis, all while not consuming alcohol and then getting stiffed on the tip so I’m chasing the guy to the door, “sir! Wait a second, sir! I think you forgot this” as a handful of dinner mints are airborne toward his face. I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
Patrons talking to you like you owe them something, it happens more often than not. It’s the only time in most of their existence, at a restaurant, when they believe they have authority over another human being, the waitress, and they abuse that authority by being rude and never saying one please or thank you. There isn’t enough cool diners who eat out regularly and tip big enough to put up with all of those other people who think it’s my job to smile and serve them food while they’re rude and inconsiderate. I’ve heard the stories, I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
I think they’re crazy acting like that to the one person who stands in between them and their food. I’m always over doing it, “thank you, thank you, yes please, no thank you, please, yes please” and about 10 more pleases with a smile on my face because I’m not 100% certain what goes down back there in the kitchen but I am 100% certain I’d rather not find out the hard way what happens when you act like that and I’m glad I never had to work in a restaurant.
