The Magic Words

I just got off the phone with my mom. We were talking about my house for a bit.

Mom: Did your dad say anything to you about a dog?
Me: No. I mentioned it the other day, but he didn't really say anything about it.
Mom: Well, when we were talking about it, he said he'd be okay with a dog.
Me: Really? Awesome.

So, ladies and germs, it just got exceptionally more likely that I'll get a dog this summer. Winning over my dad to the idea was the biggest step, and now that he's no longer stringently opposed... One obstacle remains: The fence in my backyard is anything but dog-proof and will need repair or replacement (probably that second one) before it's ready for a critter. So, now that my dad's open to the idea of me getting a creature, I've just got to get him around to the idea of a new fence. Hrm...

Still, a fence is easy in comparison. Especially if I offer to help with the cost/labor.

Stepping Stones and After the Bar?

Transition periods have a tendency of making me restless. This week is the last week before summer break. Thus, I'm restless tonight. And tired. Not the most ideal of combinations. I feel like there's something I ought to be working on - other than my big class paper (which I'm not focused enough to work on right now anyway) - but I'm at a loss for what, in particular.

During dinner with friends tonight, I was asked the question of what I'll talk about here once I'm done waitressing in August. What would have the same kind of tone and comedic potential? I'm steering clear of teaching topics, because I can only poke so much fun at myself and I'm not going to talk about my students. That can only end badly. I've run out of steam on movie reviews - so hard to stay creative when it's all just more "I liked it" or "I didn't."

I've gotten personal in the past, but I don't know that I want to go back to that. Yeah, blogging is the new confessional and all of that, yet I'm not feeling particularly compelled to go in that direction.

Transitions... Going from one place to another. The foot is mid-air, headed for the next rock across the stream.

Can we always be our own compass, or do we sometimes need others to help point the way?

Tonight is a night for questions.

I can say that I'm in a better place now than I was in November. I've been saying "no" more often and in the past week or so I've taken a new risk which is spreading its own ripples. A couple of days ago I bought a new CD, Cracked Rear View by Hootie and the Blowfish. It's much more of a mainstream album than what I usually shell out cash for, but it's fitting really well right now.

I can say that my priorities have shifted. Notable: I've gone through the entire semester (practically) without once getting sick, despite the nasty flu that was going around and hit at least three students in my comp. class hard. As good an indication as any that I'm doing better on balancing myself out.

Tonight I'm thinking of ways of communicating, relationships, uncertainty, fear, the skunk under my porch, popcorn, Celtic music, things that are funny about people, sighs, meteor showers, that time of night when all the lights are out and you're in bed getting ready to fall asleep, the color blue, movies, conversations, eye contact, smiles, things that grow, and next week.

So on a closing note: People underrate the importance of humor. They oughtn't.

Car Shopping

A friend of mine is in the market for a car because in about a month, she'll be a junior and allowed to have one. Since she knows I like cars, and spent a lot of time restoring one with my dad, she asked for my opinion on a few cars she was considering. One thing led to another, and I ended up going car shopping with her yesterday. For the most part, it wasn't that eventful. We stopped by a private owner's house and checked out a car that suited her pretty well, was in great shape, and had a pretty good price.

We still thought it was a good idea to keep looking around in case we could find a little better deal. We stopped by a no-haggle lot and checked out something that wasn't as good. The did have a pretty nice 1974 Z-28 Camaro that I became infatuated with, but I'm not in the market for a $14,000 muscle car that's drag-strip ready. It had a beautiful custom paint job, high performance engine, and big back tires. I thought about asking to test drive it, but the guys at the dealership were nice and I didn't want to waste their time when I wasn't even considering buying it.

After we left that dealership, we wandered on to another and checked out a few cars they had to offer. None of them were what my friend was looking for, but I found a little 1990 Mustang 5.0 GT convertible in decent shape. Sticker price: $5,000 Book value: $1,700. I find myself wanting to buy it, play with it, and see if I could turn it around for a profit. That'd only work if I could buy it reasonably though... Anyway, we didn't find a car like my friend wanted so we moved on down the road until we found another dealership and wandered in.

This dealership felt a little more like the cliche. Sure the guy was nice, but the whole deal started to feel sleazy, and I noticed a lot of the sneaky car-salesman tactics that I've read about. The guy we talked to mainly tried to get to know us, and introduced us to his boss/manager (I'm guessing). Boss/manager guy was friendly and when he saw my old car, we got to chatting about classics a little bit. When my friend said that one of her requirements was a leather interior, B/M guy said "I'm, the same way. I don't usually tell people that but...."

That was the point when I started to notice the sleaze factor of this place. This guy was definitely distorting the truth and trying to build the image of a close relationship. Why would he share something that he "usually doesn't tell people" with two folks he's known for 30 seconds? We test drove one car that was in poor shape, and then moved on to a little nicer one. To start, they kept us waiting while they tried to find the keys for the first car and tried to track down the second car. Apparently keeping the customer waiting is another salesman tactic, and I have a hard time believing that they just lost an entire car.

It didn't seem too underhanded until we ended up at the negotiation table. That's when our salesman pulled out the "four square" sheet. He also said "So if we can work out an agreeable number, have we earned your business today?" I had read about this "four square" sheet and knew that the idea of this paper was to bombard you with numbers, confuse you, and try to knock you off guard. Asking if they would "earn your business" was their way of trying to make you feel committed.

As expected, our sales-guy walked into the B/M guy's office to get a price, and came back with a ridiculously high number. He had already asked what my friend's price range was, and she had told him under $10,000. The price he came back with: $12,635. Detailed out to the last digit so it didn't look made up, above book value, and out of her stated range. The whole situation mirrored exactly an article I had read about car guy tactics. Apparently the first number is supposed to be insultingly high so that every offer after that seems more reasonable by comparison.

When we shot that first number down, we also told him about another car my friend had found on craigslist. Same year, make, and model with a few more miles for $8500. We told the guy this and he came back with B/M guy.
B/M guy: "I just realized that there's a different way we can sell this. Since it just arrived, we can just run it through our inspection, get it detailed and you could buy it for $8,500 plus dealer fees."
It was funny how all of a sudden, the absolute lowest they could go was the same price of a comparable vehicle. The other vehicle though was in significantly better shape, so it still didn't seem like a good deal. All the while, they're writing the prices they throw out there in big numbers across the foursquare sheet and scribbling out the old prices. Within two trips to the office, the sheet is covered in scribbles, folded, and still has numbers that we both know are too high. The sales guy and B/M guy keep asking my friend to initial next to the numbers agreeing to buy if they can reach an agreeable price.

She was hesitant to do that, but I let her know that even if she signed in blood, it wouldn't be legally binding. After jockeying like this for maybe a half hour or 45 minutes, we both got tired of the sleaze. We figured that she had already found a car she'd be happy with, in good shape, for a good price, so we didn't need to deal with this b.s. It was weird walking out of the dealership because we both felt dirty for the next hour just at having dealt with that crap.

It was just interesting to see all these sleazy sales tactics in action after I had read about them and could see through them. So if you're ever going to buy a car, I'd suggest looking through some articles on the internet about dealing with car salesmen, doing your research, and bringing someone with you.

The Tallest, Curses, and Cabo Wabo

We have come to the conclusion that both Laura and I are cursed. My curse: when I work happy hour on Fridays, happy hour is very slow. Her curse: water-loving-people.

When I walk into the bar at four, there are two people. One is Julia, the other is Deb. The staff to customer ration is 3:0. Over the next forty five minutes this changes to 3:1 when one guy comes in and sits at the bar. I park on a bar stool and get myself ready for yet another one of those nights.

It starts picking up around five-thirty, which is the same time I see some familiar faces come through the door. My parents' next-door neighbors are two of the nicest people in the world, and his sister's visiting, so they're showing her the town. Since it's getting busy, I don't end up having a lot of time to chat with them, but I do manage to steal a few minutes. I also buy them a spinach and artichoke dip appetizer, which is my favorite. Lots of smiles for that one. You know how sometimes you just have that table that puts you in a better mood? They were that table.

By the time my parents' neighbors have left, Laura's arrived. It doesn't take her curse long to kick in. She goes over to her second table of the night and comes back with one of those looks on her face.
Laura: She's having water. He's having a Coke. They don't even know if they're going to eat.
Thus far, I have not had anyone drinking water (not that I've had much of anyone anyway, though). Later, the man orders a sandwich, the woman has nothing.
Laura: Wow, water and no food. She's a fun date.
Well, apparently the guy didn't mind as I later noticed them doing some quiet face sucking.

Since we were a little short handed, bartender-wise, Alex came in to help out by bar backing. Or, as Julia put it, being her bitch. Since Alex is a tall guy and I am not, and since the bar stools have horizontal bars perfect for standing on, I put two near each other and stepped up so I had a foot on the lowest bar of each. At about this time, K.C. passes by. He walks over, looks at what I'm doing.
K.C.: I don't think so.
He reaches up to the top of his head, looks at the top of mine, and adds: I'm still taller than you.
Me: Get back to the front door where you belong.
He laughs and head back to his post.

I continue chatting with Alex for a bit and glance toward the front where I have a clear line of sight of the front door, and K.C. who's got a few stools of his own up there and is now perched on them just as I am on mine. He grins. I do my best to shoot him a dirty look from all the way across the place. He laughs. I climb down off the stools, accepting my defeat.

About this time there are four tables in the whole place. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night. Pitiful. By a quarter after ten, I've closed out my one table, closed out my bank, etc. and I'm headed for my car. It's started to pick up just a bit, and the owners have all arrived and I didn't clear my leaving with them, but I'm out the door and I just keep walking.

This morning, I pull my phone out of my bag from last night and notice a missed call. From the bar. My first thought: this can't be good. The time is 11:47 p.m. Also not a good sign. All I can think of is that it's one of the owners calling to say they were not happy by my ducking out. I'm a little worried. Despite the fact that my days at the bar are numbered, I don't want to be thought of as a slacker or unreliable.

I push the button to hear the message.
Julia: Hey, you need to come in tomorrow. (pause, laughter)Just kidding. We emptied the Cabo Wabo bottle you wanted and I saved it for you.

Ah, no problem then.

It's a good thing it's almost summer break as my collection of empty bottles from the bar has begun to make it seem like I am a drunk. I need to get back to my making tequila bottles into jewelry project before I start having to answer questions.

New Security System

My folks/landlords have returned to town and are currently working out how to make my house more burglar-proof.

I woke up early this morning, and so stopped by my parents' house on my way to campus and chatted with my mom for a bit. When we got to talking about my new security system, she told me how they were shopping around to see what would work. They went to a shop (or wherever it is that you get burglar alarms) and were talking to the guy about different systems. At one point, the guy said to my dad, "Why don't you just do it the easy way and get a dog?"

Thus, my evil plan of canine acquisition has taken one more step forward. Mom and I have already agreed on a two-pronged attack plan for exploiting the above comment with the intention of swaying my dad in favor of a four-legged security system.

*Does the Montgomery Burns hand thing* Excellent.

RT v.19

Ribeye's now got the 19th Round Table up. Check it out.

Cashey Money

Before I head off to the airport to collect my parents, I thought I'd share this article. What does the organization of your wallet say about your finances overall? It's funny to think about.

Since servers handle cash constantly, and constantly make change, it pays to have your moolah organized. So, is it an organized finances thing, or a server thing? They should add a note about that in the article :)

Break Downs

Currently I'm working on coordinating various things with people. For one of them, I just had an interesting e-mail exchange. The paraphrase goes as follows:

Me: This is to confirm our meeting at X on Y.
Them: No, that date doesn't work. We can only meet at X on Z.
Me: Um...
(Quick review of previous e-mail from this person. Copy. Paste.)
Has something changed since you sent me this previous e-mail which says:
"Yeah, X on Y works."

Beats me what's going on there, save that this person perhaps did not check their date book as closely as they think they did.

Earlier this morning, I responded to another e-mail on another project.
Person: Hey, what's this thing on the thing? And why is this thing this way and not that?
Me: That thing is the shipping cost. The other thing is that way and not the other because the other thing was the initial estimate vs. the revised one, which I gave you a copy of the other day and told you it was the revised one.

Wall. Head. Smack. Repeat as necessary.

Nothing Particularly Interesting

Last night was a super-average night. For the most part it was neither especially busy nor especially slow. The customers were generally average, no one was particularly delightful nor particularly terrible. Etc. etc. A hugely uneventful night.

I did get ditched by Julia, though. She opened, so she went home at nine, leaving me with my least-favorite bartender for the next five hours. That was not so fun. Said bartender is very difficult to work the floor with. For instance - any and all drink orders from a cocktail waitress are at the very bottom of her priority list and she often stops in the middle of a drink order to walk over and have a brief chat with one of her customers. She's also in the habit of being bossy and "accidentally" tossing tickets away before making drinks, resulting in me having to say, "So, about those drinks I ordered..." But, enough whinging about her. The times when it's just her and me are few and far between, so at least I can be glad of that.

Other than my bartender-frustration, most all I can say for the night is that it was long. This two o'clock in the morning stuff is really taking its toll on me right now. The semester needs to hurry up and be over already.

Fate and The Schizophrenic Table

Now that all the burglary excitement has worn off, I figure I'd better get caught up on all things bar related. First order of business, Manuel's hosting this week's Roundtable, a.k.a. issue 18.

Second order of business - bar news from that fateful night.

I got in at four, had a slow, slow happy hour. Laura got in at six and it stayed slow, slow for the next few hours. It proved to be another one of those nights when my co-worker and I are mistaken for being the same person.

Older gal at Laura's table (waving at me): I think we will have some popcorn after all.
Me: I'm so excited for you, but why are you telling me?

It was so slow, it caused me physical pain. A table here, a table there, everyone was drinking slowly and there weren't many people in the place to begin with. I tell Laura, "So, if this keeps up, I'm thinking I'll duck out at ten."

A couple more tables wander in. Two come in a the same time: one is a handful of people in scrubs, the other is Rob and Melissa. Laura and I briefly confer.
Laura: Why don't you take the scrubs and I'll take Rob and Melissa since they usually stay a while?
Me: Sounds like a plan.

I mosey on over to the table and they're hungry. It's 5 min. until the kitchen closes, so I tell them I can squeeze them in as long as they order right away. They confer briefly about the friend who's on her way, then do a couple of appetizers and order drinks. One gal orders a double Bacardi Coke, tall.

By the time I get the appetizers out, they're ready for another round. Another double Bacardi Coke, tall. A bit later, rum & coke gal orders another. At this point, she's downed two doubles in roughly forty minutes. I debate with myself.
Me: That's a lot of liquor.
Myself: Yeah, I know. I don't want to cut her off, though. Hrm...
Me: What about make it a regular Bacardi Coke tall? No double.
Myself: You think she'll notice?
Me: Probably not, and it's not like you'd be charging her for the non-existent shot.
Myself: Sounds like a plan.
I ring up a Bacardi Coke tall, no double shot. I mention what I'm doing to Brandi. She finds it highly amusing.
I bring the round over, including the diluted RC. When I check back later, RC gal says nothing. She hasn't noticed.

Meanwhile, the friend arrives. She sits down and demands a menu. Her friends inform her that the kitchen's closed. She's adamant that it isn't. Yup, she's that kind. After I regretfully inform her that there are no more sandwiches to be had, she demands popcorn and a Jack Daniels on the rocks. I bring them. A short time later, she demands more popcorn, having wolfed down what I'd brought. Another basket of popcorn later, she tells me I should bring two baskets, one for each end of the table. I pick the biggest baskets I can find and load them to the brim.

RC gal has another. Brandi tells me I should give her a straight Coke this time. Since I don't hate the table (or RC gal) I decline. Brandi is very disappointed.

A couple hours later and Rob and Melissa have gone home. My table has not. Demanding woman informs me that she needs her tab. Right now. $10, she leaves $1. How nice. The remainder of my table stays. Two new people join them.

By last call, a couple of people are still at my table. One who isn't is a woman who still owes me $10.50 for her beers. Very cool gal says, "I guess put it on my tab" and leaves me %20 on the total.

On the whole, a hit-and-miss table. Typically, I would've liked them okay, except that they stayed forever and all I wanted to do was go home and fall asleep. I did get a backrub, though, while waiting for last call. That was a high point for the night.

I can't help but wonder, in the grand scheme of things, whether the table's extended stay was an even greater harm than it would seem, or a particularly lucky stroke. I have no way of knowing when my house was broken into, so I can't help but ask a couple of questions. If I'd gotten home at ten o'clock, would my house still have gotten broken into? Did the table's lingering cost me a stereo? Or, did it save me from a violent encounter with the burglar?

Is There a Connection?

Last night at 11:30 there was a commotion outside my house - specifically, in front of the house of my [meth addicted] next door neighbor. There were about six people having a very heated discussion for a good twenty minutes. While I couldn't make out most of what was said, I did hear something about a white Toyota truck which was gone. A little before midnight, a squad car pulls up and one of the gathered people has a conversation with an officer.

This morning, a couple of minutes ago, I hear knocking on my door. Typically, I don't answer my door when I'm not specifically expecting someone. This is to avoid people who are trying to sell me stuff or trying to get me to go to their church. Today, however, given this weekend's special circumstances, I broke policy.

I open my door to find a neighbor I don't recognize. He's the owner of last night's truck. As it turns out, he let the meth addict borrow it yesterday and the guy left him in his house (i.e. next door) and never returned. The neighbor somehow didn't get the addict's name (why you'd lend your truck to someone without knowing their name is baffling to me) and was asking if I knew anything about the guy. I wrote down his name and wished my neighbor luck in the return of his truck.

Neighbor: I don't know if maybe he's in jail or something. Then I'd know where to go get my truck. Now I can call and ask if he's there.

Maybe, if he is, that means I get my CDs back.

Break-In, the Day After

I talked with one set of my next door neighbors today - the cool ones who also know my parents, not the crazy one who's a meth addict and the most likely suspect, in my mind, for the break-in. They live on the opposite side of the house that the break-in happened, and hadn't really seen anything. However, they were really cool and helped me board up my broken window.

Today was also the day I planted the excessive amount of flowers I bought the other day. I mention this because, while getting ready for gardening, I went out the back door and noticed the blood on the outside doorknob. Yup, it seems that if you break into someone's house via a window, you just might cut yourself. I made a phone call to the police and a while later a CSI-type gal pulled up to take a sample. "Unfortunately," she said, "we don't run blood samples in burglaries unless there's already a suspect." So, whether or not the blood donation on my back door will prove useful remains to be seen.

At this point, it looks like the excitement is all over. Unless the police find a suspect somehow (which is unlikely), that's the end of it. My boarded up window will remain as-is for a while, and I'm rather okay with this as it's harder to break plywood than glass. Sometime in the next couple of days I'll venture out to the store to see what I can find by way of stereo (and CD) replacement.

Then, too, there is the small matter of cleaning a stranger's blood off my door. I can't help but hope that the burglar's cut gets infected and gangrenous. Ideally, some kind of amputation will prove necessary.

A Big Pile of Suck

So, today was another one of those long-ass days that started with comp. class and ended with the bar. I showed up at the bar at four o'clock and stuff happened, people said stuff, and one of my tables stayed entirely too long, forcing me to be there until one thirty.

Not my favorite day, to say the least. But, we're not going to get into any bar stuff tonight. No, we're skipping right over all that because when I got home I stepped through the front door and noticed that something was off. You see, one of the first things I see when I step through my front door is my entertainment center. Tonight I noticed that on top of my entertainment center, where my stereo usually stands, there was empty space.

My mind worked really hard really fast, trying to figure out a logical explanation. My folks/landlords have a key and my first thought was that they had, for some reason taken my stereo. However, as they are currently out of town, that explanation didn't work. A few moments of the rest of my brain catching up to immediate reaction: Oh, I get it, I've been robbed.

That's right, my friends. At some point in my long-ass day and night, one or more people took it upon themselves to break the window at the side of my house, invite themselves inside, and make off with some of my possessions. As realization dawned on me, I noticed stuff that had been knocked over. I noticed that my collection of little boxes on my bookshelf had been rifled through, etc.

Gone:
Stereo (and the CDs inside of it)
Keyboard
One scotch container of maybe $50 of change
My rings (all inexpensive jobbies less than $10 each)

So far as I can tell, after a walk through of my house, that's all that's gone. That's the part which is simultaneously a relief, and rather baffling. It leads me to think that the theives were in a hurry and limited on the stuff they could carry. I get taking the stereo. I don't get leaving all the CDs (other than those already in the stereo) which have got to be worth more than an old stereo that's going on ten years, and are certainly easier to toss in a bag than a keyboard. Why they would take the old stereo and leave my new-ish computer, I don't know (not that I'm complaining, mind you).

In my room they dug through my old backpack - because that's the first place I'd put valuables, right? They completely missed the $20 or so cash I had laying out in the living room and walked right by my digital camera. Weirdest of all: for the CDs I had in my stereo, I had the cases leaning against a speaker. When they took the stereo, they left the cases on my entertainment center, more-or-less neatly stacked. I've got no clue there.

So, after I walked through the house I had to consciously think: Ok, now what do I do? Because, seriously, twenty minutes earlier all I was thinking was how damn tired I was and how good it would be to go to bed. I was not thinking of what one does in the event of a break in. It took me a minute to get my phone to call the police. Two officers came out, took some notes, looked at the broken window, and gave me a case number. Then they pretty much shrugged, said "Call if you find out anything else," and went on their way.

This brings me pretty well up to the present. I've taped up a couple of garbage bags to cover my window and resigned myself to the fact that there's no way I'm falling asleep tonight. I'm incredibly relieved that, though they took stuff, they didn't actually take that much, and they none of what they took was super valuable. My beads and the jewelry I've made were left alone, as was my computer (my two most valuable/important things). My grandfather's violin, which I tucked behind the couch, was left alone. They didn't do any vandalism (save the busted window), and most of what they took is easy to replace. Now I can get a new stereo, even.

It's strange, to think about this in the context of what people value. Obviously (and fortuantely), I and my intruders have different priorities.

Ultimately, I find that what I'm most pissed about is dealing with the window and the fact that my new Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys CDs, since they were the ones in the stereo, are gone. Bastards. I just got those CDs. Oh yeah, and the fact that somebody fucking broke into my house. That, in and of itself, does nothing for my mood.

Maybe now my dad will warm up to the idea of me having a dog.

Something Familiar About This

My last semester as an undergrad. culminated in me being knocked flat right before finals week in a combination of flu and exhaustion. I pushed myself too hard, and it caught up with me in a powerful way.

The past couple of weeks have reminded me of that semester. I've developed a steady feeling of general worn-outedness and have made a couple of decisions about pulling back on things. Unfortunately, as the bar isn't fully staffed right now, that's something I can't really cut further down. *sigh*

So now I'm just trying to do what I can (like a lovely two hour nap yesterday) and keep my fingers crossed that the ghost of semesters past doesn't make a visit. I've got three weeks to go until summer vacation. Just three weeks. I can make it. I can make it. I can...

Welcome to THE FUTURE!

I'm in the midst of making my server-blog rounds and had to stop and comment on one of Manuel's recent posts about an automated restaurant. His commentary on how it's being sold in the media is good. It's funny. It's like the Scientology quiz, big spin.

At the end of the day, I see a couple of reasons why my job is safe:
1. The whole automated restaurant system looks expensive. Servers are cheap.
2. The machines cut down on actual space for customers - thus, less moolah.
3. Who maintains/fixes the machines? I bet they cost more than the less-than-minimum-wage you get servers for.
4. Who deals with the problems? They'd need someone(s) on staff to deal with customer issues or machine glitches. See #3.
5. What about the part where customers go out to eat for the sake of a bit of human interaction? Most of our bar regulars don't come to the bar for the booze they could buy more cheaply from the liquor store and drink at home. They come for the company.
6. It sounds a lot like high-class fast food. McDonald's hasn't taken over the dining industry, and it's offering the same kind of thing. No "rude waiters" at the golden arches.
7. What about the fact that people like to be waited on? Every now and again, we like to have someone else do stuff for us. It's a gratification thing.

At the end of the day, I'd probably go to an automated restaurant at least once for the novelty. Even so, I don't see this becoming a major trend any time soon. It's funny, though. Very funny.

Less funny - the negativity about servers included in the BBC coverage of the restaurant. Not cool, guys.

XVII

It's that time again, this week's Round Table is hosted by Bitchy Waitress.

The Stress Factor

Sooner or later, something is going to go wrong. Whether that something is small scale or grandiose, snags happen.

This weekend was an interesting case study. Between the bar on Friday and the writing marathon Saturday (which had a snag with the meeting place), I've been watching a number of people respond to stress. We all like to talk about the most telling things about people - how they treat their server, for one - and I want to comment on another telling thing about a given person: how they respond to a problem.

I talk about having a lot of respect and appreciation for my coworkers at the bar, and I chalk a lot of that to the fact that working in a bar is, among other things, responding to a series of problems. Every single night, at least one thing goes wrong. Many nights there's at least one person who's got a problem with something, and it's the staff's job to solve the problem: stress.

So, we have certain reactions from people who deal with problems. For the most part, I see three.
Confusion/helplessness: "I don't know what's going on!"
Negativity/blame: "I don't like problems, and I don't think I should have to deal with them. This is your fault."
Positivity/proactivity: "Okay, so how do I/we fix it?"

Writing marathon = snag = stress = variety of reactions. While part of me is responding to these concerns/comments, another part of me is keeping quiet. The quiet part is the one that wants to look at people (not just in this case, but in all similar cases) and say something to the effect of:

Okay, my friend. I hear your problem, but what did you do to try and solve it? Nothing? Why, how did you get so helpless?

or

I'm sorry this upset you, but realize that I am not the enemy. There's no need to hate me, I'm doing my best to help you.

And then, to all those who have that third reaction, I really want to hug you. Thank you so much for looking at problems through the lense of problem-solving, you rock.

Okay, no more soapbox now. Just keep in mind, the next time a situation upsets you, that while you cannot always control the situation happening around/to you, you can control your response to it. Be proactive, my friend. It just works better that way.

"It's All John's Fault" and a Funny Story About a Manipulative Girlie

Friday night was a good illustration of our current level of staffing - since Brandi wanted the night off, she had to find an ex-employee to cover her shift: John. His real job is shift work, so it was total luck that he was able to cover for her, otherwise she'd have been out of luck.

The first thing Dave told me when I got to the bar was that, for some reason, bottles of Bud Light weren't ringing up at happy hour prices, so we'd have to do a manual discount. "I have no idea why," Dave said.
I said, "Well, obviously, it's because John's working tonight. It's his fault."

I am proud to say, the trend caught on. Later, when the trash liner for the servers' trash was falling down (you've gotta tie the bag off just right) and John was standing right there...
Laura (loudly): Jeez, John must've tied the trash.

At six o'clock when I walked in, all of the tables but two were full. I didn't get a single table for an entire hour. I caught up on my throwing-stuff-at-John quota.

Also, since John was working, the average temperament of the crowd was ruder than usual.

Table of four. They walk in and I get that feeling that they're familiar, but can't summon up anything specific. The familiar feeling has a negative twinge to it. Through the course of their stay, they prove themselves to be about a D+ grade table. Somewhere between average and poor tippers (going between a buck and a quarter for a round/beer), somewhere between average and poor attitudes, etc. Then came the topper. Another table of four comes in and sits at the table beside the original four. At one point I'm talking to one of the guys in the second group about what kind of shots they'd like to order. Gal from the first table comes up and stands right by my shoulder.

I don't acknowledge her, because I'm mid-sentence with someone else. So, she leans in a bit and says, "He wants another beer." I continue my conversation with the guy I'm talking to and ignore her. The table's done nothing to impress me and now she's being outright rude. She tries once more, then gives up and head to the bathroom. I finish talking with the other customer, go to the computer to enter his order, then go to check on the first table.
Me: How are you guys doing?
Guy 1 (gal's hubby): Can I get another beer?
Me: Alright. Can I get anything for anyone else?
Guy 2: I'd like another, too.
Me: Sure thing.
I get the drinks, make change, and get a buck tip. No penalty for ignoring the gal so either he didn't notice, or thought she was being rude. Hard to say, but I'm leaning toward the oblivious answer.

No one's putting money into the jukebox, so Julia does a pay-out to get it started. She tells me that she left the last two songs for me and I head over to pick 'em out. At the same time, a guy in a business suit is walking in that direction.
Me: Pardon me.
Guy (with a bill in his hand): Uh, I'm going to put money in.
Me: Yeah, just let me pick these real quick.
Guy (pouty): I wanna put money in.
Me: It'll just take me a sec.
Guy: How many are left?
Me: Just two.
He walks off in a huff. I think he was hoping to snag the "freebies." Aw, poor guy. I'm so mean.

As soon as I arrived, things slowed down. As we were closing in on ten o'clock, it was awful quiet. I'd already chatted with Rob and Melissa (who were in the second soft section), so I wandered over to the end of the bar and chatted a bit with on of our regulars. My back was to the first soft section where some of Laura's customers were sitting. I see an arm waving in my direction. Since one of my pet-peeves is people's failure to acknowledge that I am NOT Brandi/Laura/Julia/John, I ignore him. Laura will get there soon, enough, I figure.

I finish my chat and turn to check on my customers. As I take my first couple of steps I hear a loud whistle coming from behind me. Not a cat call whistle, but a "Hey you!" whistle. I immediately know it's coming from the owner of the frantically-waving arm. I keep walking. He whistles again. I point Laura in his direction. The dude has just become the center of attention for about half of the people in the bar. When I head back in that direction, I hear a lot of commentary from my co-workers, Jan, and our regulars. I sneak a peek at who the offender is (as I haven't actually looked at him yet) and go "Oh, that guy." He's one of those center-of-the-universe types who only pays any attention to the server when he wants something right now. Note: Laura got him and his girlfriend/wife their drinks, and they kept right on talking and didn't even touch them for a good ten minutes. *insert eye roll here*

Maybe forty-five minutes later, I sent Laura home. Center-of-the-universe guy and his date are still there. I debate whether or not I'll ignore them outright (after all, even if I did take care of them, the lack of a tip is pretty much guaranteed, so what's the point anyway?). They clear out as soon as they've finished the last drinks Laura brought them. I head back over to check on Rob and Melissa.
Melissa: I can't believe that guy whistled at you.
Me: Yeah, he's a dumbass.
Melissa: I said to Rob, real loud, "Boy, if you ever whistled at a waitress like she was a dog, that's it, I wouldn't go out with you anymore." I don't think the guy heard me, but the woman did.
Me: That's fantastic.

The thing is, if the guy had just said, "Excuse me," I would have paid attention to him. And he wouldn't have generated the strong negative vibes aimed his way. *shrug* Now, technically, Julia had sent John home by this point, but I'm sure it was the residual vibes he left on his way out that caused the incident.

And, lastly, a word on prostitution. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. Attention in exchange for free booze isn't exactly the same as carnal acts in exchange for cash, but it's really only a matter of degree, not of kind. Anyhow, later in the evening as I was hanging out at the end of the bar, a quasi-regular gal walks by.
D (a regular): See that chick with the curly hair?
Me: Yeah.
D: We've both been coming here for a couple of years, and she's never so much as said 'Hi' to me. Then, the other night she comes up to me and asks me what kind of shots I like. I tell her I don't do shots. She says, 'but if you did, what shot would you do?' Then she asks me why I'm alone.
(pause)
Seriously, I'm old enough to be her dad. I tell her I'm alone because I choose to be. Then I tell her to leave me alone.
(shakes his head)
I'm not that stupid, to get hustled for drinks like that just because she's paying me attention. Since then, she won't even look at me. It's hilarious.

After seeing the stupid girlies play their game time and again, and not being particularly fond of this one in particular, I found the story rather gratifying.

Flower Binge

Mom: So, does this mean you're going to plant more flowers?
Me: Maybe.
Mom: When?
Me: Oh, I dunno. If I do, I'm sure it'll be an impulsive thing.

When I moved into this house last year I noticed flowers on the side of the house. Between getting hit with the lawn mower and trampled by roofers, they got too demolished to bloom and I never got to find out what they were. Last week, I had daffodils. The other clump has different leaves, so I'm thinking maybe tulips.

Today, I felt the need to get out of the house and so I headed to the store and picked up a handful of seed packets, a few different kinds of bulbs, a watering can, and a hanging plant container. These supplies make me feel super-equipped for all things garden (I already have garden tools and plant food) and now I have a new project for my next day off.

I've never really done plants before - save for the mint that didn't make it - but I'm hoping that I got enough flower varieties that not everything will die.

Volume 16!

The 16th edition of the Roundtable is up over at Bitterwaitress. Go check it out.