reduce, reuse, recycle

Every since I was a little girl, my father has always taught me not to be wasteful. He was always telling me, “Don’t leave that food on your plate. If we’re paying for it, you’re going to fnish it all” or “Heck no, don’t throw that away! We can save that [insert various object] for later!” or “Wrap that chicken finger up in a napkin and stick it in your purse! I’m not too proud!”

A simple trip to the local fast food joint was an opportunity to stockup one’s car or truck for simple emergencies. As we would sit to dine on a feast of hamburgers and french fries, he would grab a huge stack of napkins.

“But Dad,” I would say, “we won’t possibly need all those.”

“Summer Michael,” he would reply, “I”m gonna put these in the truck later. They’ll come in handy one day.”

As so it went with napkins, ketchup, assorted jams and jellies in little packets, salt, pepper, you name it. I was conditioned to either leave the surplus items on the edge of the table by my mother (that’s another blog entirely, see “slow down so I can ketchup”) or take them with me, as directed by my father.

Just last week, I was eating lunch with a friend. We had both taken a rather large stack of napkins. With my father’s words echoing in my head, I decided to bring the leftover napkins along for the ride as we ventured back out to the car. I carelessly tossed them in the backseat, and I briefed my passenger on my father’s pearls of wisdom. We placed our to-go cups filled with our beverages of choice in the driver’s and passenger side cupholders, respectively, and headed off to our next destination.

Several days later, napkins forgotten but waiting wordlessly in the wings (aka, the backseat of my car), I was on my way to work when I noticed the other to-go still in the cup holder of my car.

As I went to pick it up, I was unpleasantly surprised by a soggy and disintegrated cup bottom. I muttered several words of disgust and emptied what was left of the drink into the parking lot, tossing the tattered remains into the back floorboard. My cupholders were now filled with a murky brown liquid.

Upon doing tossing the cup remains, I saw a flash of white peeking out at me. The napkins! Silently thanking my father for instilling within me his frugal and thrifty principles, I proceeded to soak up said liquid with the napkins. A few minutes later, problem solved!

So many things I have gleaned from my parents, and this has truly proved to be one of the most fruitful lessons.

’tis the season to be a cheap-ass

Sometimes I love my job. I love to be around people, love to interact with them and shoot the shit with the cool customers.

Today was not one of those days.

Christmastime is a very busy time at The Restaurant. However, it seems that there are very few people that feel any sort of generosity or kindness toward their friendly neighborhood servers. And it’s not just about money. I might possibly feel a little less animosity towards some of these people when I accepted their two-dollar tips if they were a little more friendly and a little less ungrateful jerks.

Here are a few helpful hints for those of you dining at your local restaurants this holiday season. It will truly make your experience more enjoyable for you and your server. But remember: these useful tips can be used year-round, not just at Christmas. (There are so many more things I have to say about working in a restaurant, but I’ll leave it at this.)

Hint #1: When your server first approaches the table, let him or her speak first. Trust me, they have something planned to say, and it is impolite to interrupt. If your server says, “Hey, how y’all doing?” or anything of the like, neither “sweet tea” nor “hungry” are appropriate responses. That’s just rude.

Hint #2: Also regarding table approach, “bread” is not an appetizer. It comes with the salads. It will be out with the salads. We haven’t forgotten about it. We know you have not either. Do not say, “I’d like to put in for an order of bread” or “we’d like to start off with an appetizer of bread.” If you do, I’ll have no choice but to charge your ass for it.

Hint #3: When asked what you would like to drink, do not attempt to jazz up your water by calling it “lemon water” or “water with lemon.” Every tea and every water gets lemon. And don’t think I’m not wise your requests for extra lemon and Splenda. I hope your tablemade lemonade tastes as good as the Minute Maid we have on tap. I really do. But when you ask for lemonwater, quit trying to cover up the fact that you’re cheap. You’re cheap, and we all know it. (Note: This may not always be the case, true. I know because I don’t drink soda and I usually drink water. But when someone asks either how much a soda is or how much refills cost, it’s usually a tell-tale sign.)

Hint #4: When I begin to tell you about the fresh fish, I don’t care if you are interested or not: shut the hell up and let me finish. I have to do this, I’ve practiced, and damn it, I want to. It takes just a second, and if you don’t want it, don’t order it.

Hint #5: If the hostesses have had you waiting in the lobby for a while, don’t take it out on me. We do not work together trying to find out ways to piss you off. I understand you want to sit down and eat. And I’m sure everyone else in the lobby would like the same thing. Another tip concerning waiting times: if you come in with 500 people or if you notice about a thousand people waiting in the lobby, don’t think it unnatural if your food takes a little while. Food has to cook, and no one wants you to hurry up, eat, and leave more than I do.

Hint #6: If you order a well-done steak, don’t tell me that you want it to have “no pink at all.” I know how a fucking steak is cooked. And I’m not the one cooking it. Also, a well-done steak has to cook. For a while. If you want “no pink,” be patient

Hint #7: Do not tell me crossly while ordering, “I don’t like seafood.” Why the hell are you at a seafood restaurant? Read the menu. There are other selections. And if you would have let me freakin finish my table presentation, you might know that.

Hint #8: While I am passing out drinks, don’t start asking me for a straw before I’m even finished handing them out. Chances are, I have them, ready to give them to you. I’m not holding out on you. Do not feel the need to assist me in my job by reaching into my apron pocket for straws. This could result in your withdrawing a nubby for a hand.

As I am on the subject of aprons, do not consider mine a trash receptacle. When you finish rolling your straw paper into a little ball, do not think it is entirely appropriate to stick that little ball into my front pocket. My apron is also not some sort of miracle chamber like Mary Poppins’ purse. When you ask me for some tartar sauce, more bread, or a fork and you never see me leave the area, do not expect to magically produce it when I walk back by your table.

Hint #9: If you want tartar sauce or if you think you need something else, please tell me when I am at the table and I ask you, “Is there anything else that you think that you might need?” I’ll be back, but you can keep that pissy attitude to yourself, thank you.

Hint #10: This is probably one of the most important tips of all. First of all. If you come in and spend $50, $80, $100 or what have you on dinner or lunch, tip like you have the money to spend. If you are willing to fork over that much for a meal, you ought to be willing to tip just as well. Five dollars may seem like a good tip to you, but when it is on a $100 ticket, that’s 5 percent and it’s tacky.

If your bill is considerably less and you pay with a 100 dollar bill, you’d better be a decent tipper. I know you have money. I just gave it back to you.

When your server hands you the bill, don’t say, “Oh, we’re not staying for the drawing.” Not only is it not funny, no one knows what the heck that even means. Don’t waste my time and your breath saying it.

I don’t care how much your bill was, two dollars is not acceptable. I still had to cater to you, bring you your lemon water and salad and bread and the 15 tartar sauces you requested and only used two of. Merry Flipping Christmas, asshole. My children are going hungry tonight, but I’m sure you’ll sleep well.

Don’t be a wise-ass and say “Keep the change” if you know that the only change I’m going to be getting is a few nickels and change in my opinion of you.

“God Bless You” in either verbal form or in the form of a tract is not a tip. I’m just fine, thanks. Nothing makes your church, your religion, or your god look better than you leaving me a card telling me that the wages of sin is death and a 87 cents tip. I’ll see you in hell, sir. God sure didn’t bless me, or you would’ve left a better tip. My response to those people is usually “God loves a cheerful giver – look it up.” Just because you came in here on a Sunday after church doesn’t make you any better than me. If I went to church with you every Sunday, who would make sure your fried catfish was fried extra well done and your broiled flounder was extra broiled?

We make $2.13 an hour. That’s it. I hardly ever get a paycheck that is more than a few dollars. We are mothers, fathers, daughters, college students, and (sometimes) college graduates. We aren’t stupid, and you are no better than we are. Keep in mind this holiday season that we are just trying to provide for our families and friends as well.

You should be nice to someone who is bringing you food that you will eating. Be nice to me, and I will be just as nice to you. I don’t get a kick out of being a bitch. Well, most of the time. Don’t consider this to be a threat. I have never spit in anyone’s food. However, I did stick my finger in a woman’s baked potato once. But she deserved it. I promise you.

Happy Holidays from your table-waiting friends.

everything comes full circle

I’ve lost two friends this year, both very tragic and unexpected.

I wrote a blog recently about one of my friends, Ben. His girlfriend/fiancee is at home now, resting comfortably and rehabilitating herself daily to get back on her feet. She knows Ben is gone, and she has her good days and bad days, friends say. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.

Back in September, my best friend from high school lost her husband. It was totally unexpected, a blood clot. He’d had surgery, and he was having a little trouble, but he was at home. Before we knew it, he was gone.

I was the maid of honor in their wedding, and I practically lived with her all through school and vice versa. It was one of the hardest things, to try and comfort someone who has lost the man they’d hoped to spend the rest of their life with. They would have been married three years in October. He would’ve turned 26 in September.

She gave birth to their beautiful son (I’m not biased or anything) on Thursday, Dec. 14.

When her husband first passed, I thought it would be harder to raise the baby with him gone. Now I know that the baby will make her stronger, and that is what has helped her all this time.

Working at Red Lobster, we have a lot of usuals that come in. Many of these are older couples. I’ve gotten very close to many of them, and it is so very hard when they don’t come in any more. It’s even harder when one of them spouses returns without their partner.

I remember one man in particular who would always come in with his wife, occasionally joined by their daughter and granddaughter. His wife was loud and colorful; everyone knew who they were.

We soon found out that she had cancer. The first time he came in alone, it was heartbreaking.

But in recent months, I’ve noticed him coming in with another “lady friend,” if you will. It’s definitely not the same, but I see him look at her with such adoration and love. My only hope is to find that once in my life.

I wonder if my other friends who have lost that special person will ever be able to carry on to find that again.

I didn’t mean for this to be a sad, mourning blog, but I have just been thinking about how everything comes around full circle. People die, every day, but in that same respect, every day, babies are born and new relationships are started.

I think that sometimes life is a hard road, one full of bumps and potholes that seem to be neverending. But one thing is for sure – it’s not a dead end.

do you like me? blog yes or no

The internet has really revolutionized the way things happen today, and it has made such a huge impact on social netoworking everywhere.

I was in Wal-Mart just the other day, and I saw the ole Tiger Beat and Teen Bop magazines that all the girls used to have when I was in elementary school. They used to be covered with teen sensations and say things like, “Super Dreamy Pics of Hanson Inside This Issue! Free Poster!”

This issue said pretty much the same, only now there was a huge headline proclaiming, “Sweet New MySpace Codes Inside! Jazz Up Your Page!”

I heard MySpace and Facebook mentioned on two primetime television shows.

However, the best thing we have all gotten out of this has to be blogging. I love blogs. I think they are fantastic. Last night, while I was at work, I heard something I thought was funny. These kids (I use the term loosely, they were old enough to drive, probably 17 or so) were all dressed up for some dance or something, wearing sparkly dresses and their hair was all did up, the whole nine.

One girl was talking about a boy to her friend. Here’s a brief transcript about what transpired between the pair:

Girl#1: I don’t know. Like, do you think he like, likes me, like or whatever?

Girl#2: Oh, my gah, he soooooo does. He was like, totally checking you out or whatever. Chad is like, his like, MySpace friend, and he said he was looking at your profile yesterday.

Girl#1: Shut up! Shut UP! No way! Like, for real?

Girl#2: Straight up. And he like, wrote a blog about you. He totally likes you.

Girl#1: (ecstatic, obviously) AH! Oh my gah, he is SO cute! I like him, like for real. Ah! He is so so cute! I’m gonna put him on my top 8.

Girl#2: Seriously? Wow, that’s like, huge. Who are you going to bump off?

Girl#1: Girl, are you kidding? Ashley was totally scamming on him. She left him, like, six comments in a row on his page. Who does she think she is?

Girl#2: Bitch.

And that was about it. I may have embellished a little. But I just thought it was funny how it used to be, writing each other little notes and such across the classroom and asking your friends to go talk to the other person and stuff. When I heard these girls and the word (or words, if you want to get technical) “MySpace,” I just knew I had to listen in.

sign, sign, everywhere a sign

Okay, so, I love signs. LOVE them. I love them esp when they have something wrong with them or when they just really, really crack me up. And I have seen many a sign, my friend. Not to mention I know how convenient it is to have a camera phone. And to have friends that have camera phones. And to have friends who appreciate your affinity for signs and that….you get the idea.

I thought I would share some of my favorites with all of you.

First off, these are just the ones that are random acts of bad grammar or just plain dumb.

Like this one.
When I first saw it, all I could think of was, “what the hell is a soure of pride? Did they mean ‘sore’ of pride? And isn’t that an oxymoron of sorts?” I would not have been very proud of myself had I been the person to have made this sign.

Sweet! Steak at Ryan’s! Save me a seat. But wait…is that a new day of the week? I mean, I know that Wednesday is a hard day of the week to spell, esp when compared to its counterparts – Monday, Friday, Sunday and the like. But if you are putting yourself out there, on the side of Rainbow Drive/Albert Rains/Hwy 411 or whatever the fuck it’s called, don’t you think you might take the extra time to consult a dictionary?

This just makes me mad. Please don’t make a gigantimous sign this big with such an error. It’s just…bad. I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that the sign upsets me so, or the fact that I have a million pictures of myself right in front of it because I frequent the place of business so much. Every dollar I spend there is basically me saying it’s okay to have shitty grammar.

Hell yeah, I want the person who either can’t spell the word “emergency” (or the person who felt the need to mass-produce this sign and stick it up everywhere) to lead me to safety. Please, tell me where to go.

I only hope there was a band playing or some sort of music wherever that arrow was pointing.

These next ones are either just cute or really cracked me up.

I saw this sign in a store window on Martha’s Vineyard. It made me giggle. Twice.

My best friend and I drove all the way to New Orleans one day, just for the hell of it. And for the prailines. We hit up a museum for some culture, and I think I almost peed myself when I saw this. I’m so immature.

I don’t even remember where I found this, but oh, my God, I will wear my safety goggles in the lab from now on. I cross my heart.

Since when is the flavor raspberry “creamy”? And this didn’t look very creamy to me. At all. I can only speculate as to what this Al person does to the drink to make it his creamy blue raspberry. Tasty.

Now for my very favorite. There isn’t anything technically wrong with these, but something is definitely wrong here.

Um, that’s what she said……but seriously, folks, Kaitie saw this one on her hairdryer at a hotel. I think it’s fantastic. If you can’t read it (I know it’s blurry), it says, “GET TO OFF BEFORE MOUNTING.”

Oh, my God, AH! It’s the Electricity Monster! Get the fuck away! It looks like some sort of Matrix crap, too, with the way the Electricity Monster is blasting the guy and he just bends over backwards to avoid it. Stay away from that stuff.

Riddikulus! Is that a boggart? I swear, I walked past this cabinet three times, and nothing jumped out at me. I was a little disappointed. And I love how one door is supposed to be opened, but other than the shadowy square on the right, it looks just the same as the other side of the cabinet. Weird.

Ho-o-ly, shit, it’s a fire! And it means business. You’d better haul ass outta there, little guy. I know I won’t be blocking a fire exit any time soon.

Zippity doo dah, zippity ay! I’m a-walkin’ on water, what a wonderful day! I wish this little guy had a top hat and a cane. I suspect he’s snapping his fingers and clickin’ his heels.

My personal favorite. I can’t tell if this sign is meant to be, “Attention: Wet Floor,” or “Attention: I’m a Sexy Playboy Centerfold.” You’d betta recognize, bitches.

Oh, my God, HELP! I am trapped in a triangle! ARRRRGHHHHHH!!!!!
Either that, or he’s dancing. It’s the new alternative to square dancing – triangle dancing.