Okay, you dragged me into it.
I wasn’t resisting, but I’ve been busy lately with a lot of other stuff.
The thing is, the Waiter’s Life, and the life of the waiter living it, are two different things. Read that last sentence twice.
The Waiter’s Life is what goes on in the restaurant. It’s how his/her job experiences affect his view of the world. It’s how his work interacts with his personal world.
The life of the waiter living it, however, is just like anyone else’s life. We have significant-others. We get married. We accrue debt. We pay bills. We buy a house. We have health problems unrelated to ‘waiting tables.’ We have family controversies. We have car trouble. We find a $20 bill in the street. The dishes in our kitchen pile up for three days . . .
You get the idea – although not necessarily all of the above apply to me.
The thing is . . . (wait, wasn’t there just another ‘the thing is’ earlier?) . . . working is a full-time occupation. So in my case, I work two jobs – essentially full-time – and spend a lot of the extra time contemplating/preparing for/recovering from those jobs. That leaves the other hours in the week for the remainder of my life.
I’ve been full lately.
I mean, the Lakers are playing at championship-level. That’s 9 or 10 hours a week. *ouch*
I have to read everything I can about the Lakers at championship level . . . another 5 hours.
I have to read the rest of the paper (internet or hard copy) everyday . . . that’s 5 hours.
Then there’s the requisite martini and ‘relaxation time’ after . . . well, actually after any activity (including a day off) that begs relaxation at its conclusion. I don’t know . . . give it 5 or 10 more hours.
God forbid I currently had an exercise regimen.
So this is my way of apologizing and also explaining.
I’m a waiter. I write a waiter blog. And I haven’t been doing it. These are the things I’ve been doing instead.
Look for more from me tomorrow.
For today: An excellent night at Carney’s Corner. A poor day at Michael’s – $46. Carney’s yielded $305, supported primarily by my massive contribution of $473 to the pool.
I had a party of 13 women – three generations – celebrating Grandma’s 70th birthday. They were so noisy, another table (party of four) was incensed, but didn’t say anything (except to me). I refused to dampen the spirits of the ladies.
Further, I would almost never tell a table to be quiet. Sorry, but it’s a public place, and people are here to have fun. No matter if I think the noise is obnoxious and rude – this is the bargain everyone makes when they go to a restaurant. Frankly, what about the opposite when guests come to a place expecting some action and liveliness but only get a dead and quiet restaurant? Do they complain to the waiter that the lack of other loud patrons is ruining their experience?
Anyway, our 13 ladies were of absolutely of the first class. They were sensitive enough to notice the discomfort the ‘other’ table was feeling. The hostess of the party came to Carney privately and said she didn’t care what they said, she was positively going to buy their dinner, in addition, of course, to the whole tab for her own party. She handed Carney a black metal (titanium?) Amex.
That turned around the attitude of the ‘offended’ party right quick. The beauty of it was that the benefactor was being genuine, and not trying to rub her wealth in the face of the ‘offended.’ Had it been me, I might have been inclined otherwise. But I don’t have a black titanium Amex.
At the end, I totaled both parties’ checks together and added on the automatic 20% gratuity. As I approached the hostess with the check, she reminded me that the other table’s check should be included. I said it was. She said great. Without looking, she handed the check presenter back to me and said, ‘Add a 30% tip.’