Kelly Gibbons, artist and writer, about me

Friday, August 06, 2004

I found this over at Angela's blog. Since I like to blog and I like books I thought I would give it a whirl.

UPDATE: I got an honorable mention for my entry! I am so excited!

Blogging for Books #2: Servitude

For this month's Blogging for Books, write a blog entry about the best or worst experience you've ever had working for someone else.

I Did it for the Money

I was a waitress for sixteen years. The whole time I worked as a waitress I always said, "I'm gonna write a book about this place some day." Well, it's not a book yet, but it's a blog, and truthfully I have so much material, I don't know where to start.

I could write about the verbal abuse I put up with from the cooks, but sticks and stones can break my bones, but words didn't take tips out of my pocket, and that wasn't the worst. I learned to ignore it. I could write about the sexual escapades of my co-workers and the boss (separately and together), but I signed a confidentially agreement with some of the parties and I can't divulge some of the facts until after their death. Or maybe it would be interesting to tell about the time the boss fell through the ceiling in his attempt to escape the trash talking cooks who where trying to drag him to a strip club. There is always the fight I had with the Mormons. That one almost cost me my job . If it wasn't for another customer overhearing the whole conversation and sticking up for me, I would have been canned for sure. Hindsight being 20-20, I wish I would have gone then, at least I would have had a good firing story. I did get a cool video tape from my new friends who returned later in the evening to beg for forgiveness, understanding and with their cell phone number so I could call any time I needed some help. Hey pals, I would have preferred a tip.

After sixteen years in the restaurant biz, there are a lot of stories, good, bad and ugly. I settled on the most disgusting. If you don't like vomit consider this a warning.

One evening a table of three came in and it was apparent that some of them had some problems (mental and physical disabilities). They all ordered the house veal specialty. It was named after the restaurant, but out of some sick sense of loyalty, attachment or stupidity I still have a fondness for the place and I don't want to use the name, so I'll called it Veal CWJ (for crappy waitress job). Anyway, Veal CWJ is made with thinly sliced veal sauteed to perfection and served with prosciutto ham, mushrooms, seasonings, mozzarella cheese and topped with a sherry wine sauce (that was scary, how easily that came back to me!). The portions were always generous and the dish filled the plate.

I served the meals and went back to work waiting on other tables, but being the good waitress I was, I checked back on the table in a few minutes. Their plates were half empty, and the three were happily eating their veal, and nodded their approval. I went on my merry way.

In a few minutes, I walked past again and noticed that one of the plates was full again.

I ran to the back and screamed to another waitress, "I think one of my customers threw his meal back up on his plate!"

"What!?" How would you know that?"

"Because when I checked before, his plate was half empty, and now it is full again, what else could have happened?"

I had no idea what I was going to do. I went back to the table, 'cause a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do, and I didn't want to scare away the other paying (tipping) customers. I asked the man if he had gotten sick, he nodded yes, and I just about threw up all over him. I threw a cloth napkin over the plate, picked it up and ran as fast as I could run carrying a plate full of puke (Gagging again, still!) through the restaurant straight to the garbage can. Boss man almost had a coronary as he watched me throw out his precious linen napkin and a dinner plate! I wish I would have let him dig it back out (that would be a good memory), but I didn't have the heart or the stomach to at the moment. I could only retell the story and scream at him that I should have made him do the dirty work. I actually got a thank you for that one, and thank yous did not come easily from that man. Why, oh, why was he never around when you really needed him?

I never looked at Veal CWJ the same again. For a long time even the sight of it in the window brought on an instant gag reflex, and with it being a house specialty, I gagged often. I had a couple of rough months on the floor too, because even the mention of it brought a horrible visual to my mind, and tips tend to dwindle when a waitress gags as she describes the food. The boss while understanding at the moment, soon became irritated with me for screaming, "NO!" at the customers every time they asked if I would recommend the Veal.

But, as horrible as it was, even vomit couldn't make me quit. You do what you have to do to fill the pockets with moula. I have to tell you though, as bad as it sounds, to live it was a whole lot worse. Tip or no tip, I'd never do it again.

posted by Kelly @ 8/06/2004 08:06:00 AM

2 Comments:

At August 07, 2004 12:30 AM, Anonymous said…

eewww!!!!

-csf
At August 07, 2004 3:29 PM, Jenny said…

Ga-ross! That is just nasty nasty nasty.

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