On Bullet Dodging

After being on break all week, it really took some effort to get dressed and head off to work yesterday. This whole doing whatever I want to all day thing has been awesome.

First thing when I arrive: a note taped to the computer in Marianne's handwriting, "Ali, Don't forget you work Saturday at 2:30 for the party. Thank you!"
Now, considering the fact that last week when I checked the schedule it said "6-cl," and considering the fact that no one had called me to say otherwise, I was baffled at the "forget" part. One cannot forget something one never knew in the first place.

I check the schedule, it now says "2:30-cl." The shift I was originally scheduled for is now filled by Laura. I know I'm going to sound like a wuss to all you hardcore servers who do back to back doubles, but 2:30-cl means eleven-and-a-half hours at the bar, which is entirely too long. Especially without any notice. Especially during my spring break when I'm trying to maximize my amount of time being lazy. Oh yeah, and I really don't like parties anyway. Marianne doesn't feel it's right to do auto gratuity (yeah, it baffles) and the lady hosting the party declined to have it added to the check, because "I'm a good tipper, I'll take care of 'em." Right, that's comforting. I briefly consider my options and arrive at the conclusion of "Screw that."

I pull out my phone and dial Marianne's number. No answer, so I leave a message: Yeah, about that 2:30 tomorrow thing...

While I waited for a call back one of our regulars came in. She had just taken her gigantic golden retriever for a walk and they stopped in for a beer before heading home. Picture a full grown golden retriever. Now picture half of another full grown golden retriever. Now combine them. That is the size of this dog. He's monstrous. He's also incredibly sweet and obedient. He parked himself behind his owner's stool and spread out in the space between it and the wall to nap, effectively blocking off the walkway to the popcorn machine. No one really needed to get back that way, though, so it was fine. And he was in just the right spot for me to be able to hunker down and pet him while still keeping an eye on the place.

If you're making faces about the dog thing, here's the explanation. Marianne likes dogs. Marianne owns the bar. From time to time our regulars bring in their dogs 'cause Marianne lets them. The dogs stay out of the kitchen and out from behind the bar. For the most part, there are no problems. A few odd looks from a customer every now and again, but mostly people smile. I kind of like having the dogs - more so when they're on the patio than in the bar itself - because my pet-deprived self gets to pet them.

After a couple of beers, dog and owner were on their way and I had only had three tables. By the time Laura arrived at six, this number had grown to five. Five tables. On a Friday. During happy hour. Yeah.

At some point shortly after Laura arrives, I'm forced to remember how green she still is. Some people catch on immediately, some people catch on more gradually. She's got most things down, but the part that's not there yet is her peripheral awareness. Usually this shows when she enters something in the computer, then stands right in front of it still when I'm walking up behind her to enter something. That sort of thing. Last night it showed slightly more dramatically.

She's wiping down a table. I'm walking to check on one of mine. As I'm passing behind her, she whirls. The hand holding the rag is out in front of her. She punches me right in the gut. Not super hard, but not incredibly gentle either. Her eyes get real big and she starts trying to apologize. I wave her off and keep walking to my table. I'm not in the mood for an "Oh, I'm so sorry,"
"No, it's okay,"
"But really, I should've..."
"You just didn't see me..."
Blah, blah, blah. Boredom gives me a real short attention span when it comes to things like that. My table's fine. They haven't noticed that their server just got accidentally sucker punched. They'd like some bread pudding, though.

Another table comes in for me - a table of four. Not particularly friendly, not particularly not friendly, just an average table. They have a drink or two each and dinner. After an hour or so, they ask for the check ($63.06) and the matriarch brings cash up to me at the computer. She hands me a hundred dollar bill and six pennies. Exact coinage doesn't usually bode well, the fact that she couldn't wait for me to come back to the table isn't a good sign either. She hands me the cash then stands right there while I make change. When they leave there are three dollars on the table. Those are the moments when I feel like telling people, "Nah, just keep it. It's less insulting that way."

By 7:30 I've talked to Brandi about the party, since she's the one scheduled to bartend it, and she's told me that Julia mentioned working it. Julia rang up the deposit, and so she's already claiming $750 in sales on it, so she figured she might as well work for the tips on that $750. Marianne and Bob wander in, as does Julia. We get the party sorted out.
Marianne: I put you on the party by Brandi's request, it's not that I'm trying to cut your hours or anything.
Me: I get it. I just can't work from the party 'til close, and since Julia said she was interested, why don't you just put her on the party?
Marianne: Well, we don't need two cocktails on a Saturday night, so as long as you don't mind working only one night this week...
Me: I don't. Not even a little.
Marianne: Okay. You're off tomorrow then.
Me: Groovy.

Now that we've got that sorted out, I can go back to my tables. All both of them. For the love of all that's holy, the boredom is excruciating. By shortly after nine I check with Laura about ducking out at nine-thirty. A group of people I don't like comes in, they're all hers. Two minutes pass...

By nine twenty-five I call it good, close out my bank, and flee before my escape can be impeded. Another table comes in, it's picking up. It's too late, though, I'm already gone.