Recently I decided it’s time to bite the bullet and get a second job. Student loans and aspirations to leave Ohio are looming, and since my current job doesn’t exactly bring home the veggie faken bacon something has to give. Starting this week, I’ll be starting not one, but two new jobs. The first is as a continental breakfast hostess at an extended stay hotel in Hilliard. I’ll get there at 6 a.m. Saturday & Sunday, prepare the breakfast, stock the assorted jams and whatnot, chit chat with people while they eat, then clean everything up. The second is as a server at a fine dining restaurant inside a hotel near the Columbus airport. During my interview I was asked if I felt comfortable opening a bottle of wine. I said yes of course, but it was a bald-faced lie. Every time I open a bottle of wine something or someone gets hurt. My only question for him was if this was the type of restaurant where the servers sang Happy Birthday to the patrons. Thankfully the answer was no.
I’ll probably be changing my tune a few weeks in but right now I’m feeling optimistic about reentering the customer service sector for awhile. Even though I’m quiet and reserved most of the time, I always was good at being a server. When I worked at Bob Evans I sold three times as much dessert as the hyper type-A extroverts I worked with. I only cried twice and only told a customer to go fuck themselves once. I’m pretty sure there’s a zero tolerance policy for tears and expletives in fine dining, but I think I’ll handle things better this time around. Even if they make the smallest violin in the world motion at me:
Working with the teens has been particular emotionally wrenching of late. A part of me is looking forward to distracting myself with the inevitable absurd customer complaints and requests that will come my way. I’ve been inventorying my favorites from past jobs. At Bob Evans a woman told my manager I was completely brain dead, stiffed me, but left me her Mary Kay business card so I could give her a call about having a facial consultation. At IHOP someone left me 8 quarters on a plate, covered completely in pancake syrup. At Mrs. Fields, a young man burst into tears when I showed him the cookie cake I decorated for his wedding reception, then proceeded to tell me he how he was making a terrible mistake. At Culver’s I dropped an ice cream sundae in a customer’s lap while handing it through the drive-thru, prompting the customer to throw the maraschino cherry at my face. At Dollar Tree, I was held up at gunpoint by someone mentally unstable. That last one is kind of the sore thumb amongst the others.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Are you suggesting that you won’t be allowed to open the bottles of wine in tandem with other servers, each of you yanking on a corresponding side until something gives way?
I’m pretty certain I’m expected to open the wine table-side for the guests on my own. As you might recall, you and I had a few botched attempts opening bottles of wine. I remember once pulling on the bottle and falling onto crates of books in your apartment, and many other times us shrugging after pushing the broken up cork down into the bottle.
One of my coworkers at the Y who serves at another restaurant told me she once cut her hand while opening a bottle of wine at a table, and blood dripped down the bottle. I only can hope I don’t outdo that.