I am the consummate frugal one. I buy most of my clothes from 50-85% off racks or the Goodwill/St Vincent De Paul stores. I love shoes and jeans, especially because they are worn in and ready to wear! I buy my groceries according to what's on sale, and don't buy what's too expensive. I routinely keep my eye out on every gas station from here to work to choose the cheapest gas at any given time. (They really change a lot, and no one gas station is really always the lowest). I use coupons when I can. I have saver cards for several grocery stores and other retailers I frequent. And I stock up on items when they are on sale so I'm good to go when I run out so there's no overpaying for those shampoos and hand creams. I also save my change in a big old gallon Carlos Rossi wine jug that I got from an Easter celebration eons ago when my father-in-law brought the wine.
Working for corporate requires that we tow the line in many facets of our business. The one area where they were lax was rounding up or down on dollar amounts. I think this is because at corporate, we are required to provide our own bank. A reading at the end of the night tells us what to remit to the banker. What we have left after that is what we made for our shift. The result of this procedure is that most of my coworkers give their customers a rounded up amount of change, since they carry no change. I was also trained to round up for over fifty cents and down for under fifty cents when turning in my remittance to the banker. Being the detail person I am, this always bothered me, but it's the way we do it there. This left no treat for the wine jug.
The new place has us take our tickets with payment to our bartender to cash out. Sometimes people say, "Keep the change." The change is back! It's such a silly thing, but it makes me happy. Consider this. Filling the Rossi jug netted me and my ex an added $400 for our Bahama vacation. I went para-sailing and we had several outings away from our all-inclusive resort with this extra money. I've turned in my jug of change for extra Christmas cash. I left the ex-boyfriend $225 and had that much myself to put toward my long trip home when leaving California. The change has provided for some much needed cash in low times when I'm barely squeaking by, and has given me extra spending money when I vacationed. The green gallon holds about $500 when full. It takes me about a year to fill. That's a nice little treasure. You can see why I'm so excited that the change is back! Working as a waitress usually means lots of dollar bills and quarters, dimes, nickels. It's funny to me that corporate even took away that little joy. Proof positive that I'm not cut out for that way of serving. Give me the old, give me the traditional.
There was another nice change last night. The boss was finishing his shift as the evening was starting. Waiting at the bar for some drinks, he was standing next to the service station. He looked at me and said these words:
"I watched you last week, and I wanted to tell you that you really do a nice job. Your tableside manner is really great. You're very conscientious about filling waters and taking plates--taking good care of your customers. I really appreciate that." I told him thank you, and that I've been doing this a long time, and I try to treat my tables like I'd like to be treated, blah, blah, blah. He continued with, "Yeah, that shows. You're very good at this." I was feeling pretty good at that point. Before he left he asked me if I worked tomorrow (this morning). As I started to say no, he said, "Oh, no you're not on Sundays. I'll take care of that for you." Sundays are one of the best days at the new place. :) I'm impressed that he noticed I'm not on the schedule and that he thinks enough of me to want me on the "good" days. The change is back!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Centipede in a House
Yesterday a centipede came zigzagging its way across my wall by my computer. These things freak me out! The only bug worse than a centipede is a hairy spider. But apparently, the wet weather has even the moisture-loving creepies moving upward. It takes everything out of me to remove these things from my home. I'm so scared of them, in fact, that I whined to my landlord about them. He brought me some spray that he thought would take care of the issue.
When this thing appeared, I ran for the new and improved spray from the landlord. I climbed up on my desk chair, got stable, aimed, and sprayed. It ran faster. I sprayed furiously. It finally dropped onto the radiator, but ran off of it into the corner and fell onto the carpet where I couldn't see it since I would have had to crawl under my desk to view it. I stood on the chair, shaking and cussing the bad luck. What was I gonna do now?
Before I could figure out an answer, it came screaming out of the corner toward my chair like a bat out of hell. I sprayed it some more. It finally stopped moving next to my chair. I crept gingerly out of my chair, away from the creature and went to the kitchen to get another spray. I just didn't trust that this thing was dead. After a good dousing with one of my own killer sprays, I went in search of something to scoop up the body. I peered into cupboards with my mind reeling. A cookie sheet? A spatula and a big tall see-through glass? A bowl? A magazine card and an ashtray?
Standing at the kitchen table with a spoon and small plate, still twitching from the fear of it all, I looked over to the spot of the death. The centipede was GONE!!! OMG!! Where did it go?? It was racing toward the couch. I actually had to move the couch so it couldn't get under there and completely keep me off of my luxury sofa for another month. I got the Windex and sprayed it with that. I got the cheapo spray I got from the Dollar Store and sprayed it with that. I sprayed it again with the stuff from the landlord. I stood above the monster and watched to see if it was twitching, or breathing, or plotting its next escape. Holy shit.
Finally, I decided that I wanted to know if it was really dead. I got a deli container with a lid. After about four tries, I got the body shoved into the container with the lid. I secured the lid and carried it away from my body to the garbage area. I gingerly set it on the floor where it couldn't scare me every time I walked into the kitchen. After awhile, I got to thinking that I really wouldn't know if it had moved without marking the spot on the container where it currently resided. Picking it back up carefully, I took a marker and put a line on either side of the giant bug thing. Having done that, I thought it looked pretty plain so I drew it its very own little house, complete with a chimney (but no smoke coming out of it). I think the fumes of the combined sprays along with the heat of the day yesterday had me a little woozy.
I think I'll keep the little house container and use it as a cemetery for the others who think they want to live here. Maybe I should put up a warning sign for them too.
Beware of Owner with Multiple Spray Bottles
Please don't let anymore of those scary things invade my living room. ACK!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Married!
Editorial note: For those who don't know, I went on a few dates with the man who does maintenance for my landlord. It came to light a few weeks ago that he may, in fact, be married. Last night I got my confirmation. Here's the blog where I talked about dating him and dealing with him again.
http://packergurlsez.blogspot.com/2008/06/maintenance-man-and-mermaid.html]
The verdict is in, soap opera fans! I got this email from Downstairs Neighbor last night.
"[Landlord] was here and delivered your new dryer = DPMM rang my doorbell and asked if they could take dryer through my garage.. But the big news is that when I went out to direct DPMM - there was a woman sitting on the steps so I said Hey -DPMM said this is my wife [Head in Ass] _ I said Nice to meet you and that was the end of our conversation. She went to DPMM's car - DPMM and I talked about the basement - [Landlord] arrived with the dryer - They unloaded and everyone left.. So what do you think about that??? OH wronged one..
Oh wow.
This man is a snake. Somehow, I really thought there was going to end up being some separation or other valid reason for him to think he could date somebody and not get found out in a town of less than 5,000. Unbelievable. You know what they say about paybacks? This loser has some real bad karma coming his way. Does he even know?? He is dumber than I gave him credit for--that's all I can say about this right now.
http://packergurlsez.blogspot.com/2008/06/maintenance-man-and-mermaid.html]
The verdict is in, soap opera fans! I got this email from Downstairs Neighbor last night.
"[Landlord] was here and delivered your new dryer = DPMM rang my doorbell and asked if they could take dryer through my garage.. But the big news is that when I went out to direct DPMM - there was a woman sitting on the steps so I said Hey -DPMM said this is my wife [Head in Ass] _ I said Nice to meet you and that was the end of our conversation. She went to DPMM's car - DPMM and I talked about the basement - [Landlord] arrived with the dryer - They unloaded and everyone left.. So what do you think about that??? OH wronged one..
Oh wow.
This man is a snake. Somehow, I really thought there was going to end up being some separation or other valid reason for him to think he could date somebody and not get found out in a town of less than 5,000. Unbelievable. You know what they say about paybacks? This loser has some real bad karma coming his way. Does he even know?? He is dumber than I gave him credit for--that's all I can say about this right now.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Settling
When I started my new job last week, it felt a little like settling, yet again! After a week of serving under my belt, it feels more like I'm settling into a routine that could be pretty good. It's not like it was a fantastic week with tons of money being made, but taking into account that this is the slowest time of the year, this could be a nice gig.
When we last saw our heroine, she was struggling with the low paying nights and figuring out how to approach the scheduling masters she has to appease. An awkward ten minute chat with Fluffers netted an acquiescence by your normally intimidating serving hero. See, Fluffers has the dilemma of being down three servers so there are major gaps in the schedule. She needs the mighty Suz to fill in and kick ass, take names, sling hash to the customers. I have an idea for that schedule. Quit overstaffing and let us make some money!
Saturday night was slow, but it still made for a decent night. I got to meet my nemesis. I thought she was going to be cool. She's not. She's defensive and likes to point out the obvious while not actually doing those things she expects you to do. I have struggled with what to name her. In trying to describe her, I told one friend this: "You know how they say someone looks like 40 miles of bad highway? Well, she looks like 60 miles of bad highway." Then, while telling my friend who got me into this job about her over a cigarette out back, he said this: "She runs into people all the time and then tells them they need to watch where they're going. She's okay though. You'll get used to her."
I don't want to get used to her.
"She comes off bitchy, but she's really not." Pause. "She is skanky though," he said, wrinkling up his nose. That's the word!! She is skanky! For now, I'm going to skip my stories of woe with her. I'll monitor her attitude and record every transgression for a later blog. Let's just say, she had me shaking with anger, and she will not be forgiven easily. My buddy confirmed that she is a bad server. She's been there for years, and still has never been moved over to the front dining room. Girls who started in December are already promoted to the front dining room. Remember this information about Skanky when I talk about her again.
Sunday brought a carnival of fun. I was scheduled for my final training shift to learn the breakfast routine, which, by the way, is HUGE on Sundays. I woke up before my alarm. Amazing. I arrived to work on time, thanks in large part to the joyful surprise of finding most of the stoplights blinking yellow in the early Sunday a.m. I made exactly one stop in over four miles of avenue traffic lights. I was in a good mood about that when I arrived five minutes early.
The boss (the owner) greeted me after I'd punched in. I told him not to take it personally if I wasn't chatty, as I am not much of a morning person. He gave me a hearty, "Get some coffee!" with a cheerful note in his voice. A few minutes later he told me I might have to take a few tables. I thought that was cool, since I can make more money actually waiting on people than I can following someone on a training wage. That 'take a few tables' turned into 'here's your section, I'll try not to slam you.' Whee.
By 9:30 am we were starting to fill up. Before I could blink, it was lunch time. I hit a few snags, but overall the morning went okay. There were some very good things happening yesterday. My last table (which is always so important because it is your lasting impression of your shift) was a pair of friends--older women who had Bloody Mary's, coffee and the 2-egg breakfast combo. Each had a bill of about $10 or $12 bucks. I netted an $8 tip. That is a happy ending to a hectic morning shift. Staying to be an actual server and not a trainee meant I'd just stay through the day for my second shift instead of going home between shifts as I had planned. That saves $8 in gas. Perhaps the best thing that happened yesterday was something that has a bigger better chance at netting me a lasting income. The boss bartends on Sundays. I had some drinking tables yesterday morning so I kept him working. Everyone knows that a happy boss is a boss who sees his employees making him money. Drinks are money-makers in the foodservice industry. And, we were a bit understaffed since I was just a trainee and became a weak link. But the boss didn't think so. And one of the gals who likes me told me just what the boss was saying. Apparently, he was impressed with me. He told people, "She's never even worked a breakfast and she's getting killed--and keeping up!" He likes my pace. He likes my style. Very cool.
And so we go. Change is so difficult. I am adjusting to the place on the avenue so well that I think I could actually get up early every Sunday to live to tell the tale of the $100 breakfast shift. The new schedule comes out Wednesday. I got the distinct feeling from Fluffers last night that I am getting preferential treatment. We'll see if my 10-minute awkward conversation left an impression on her. I'm hoping good work ethic nets good work nights. I have a feeling it will. Especially if the boss looks over her shoulder while she puts the pencil to paper.
When we last saw our heroine, she was struggling with the low paying nights and figuring out how to approach the scheduling masters she has to appease. An awkward ten minute chat with Fluffers netted an acquiescence by your normally intimidating serving hero. See, Fluffers has the dilemma of being down three servers so there are major gaps in the schedule. She needs the mighty Suz to fill in and kick ass, take names, sling hash to the customers. I have an idea for that schedule. Quit overstaffing and let us make some money!
Saturday night was slow, but it still made for a decent night. I got to meet my nemesis. I thought she was going to be cool. She's not. She's defensive and likes to point out the obvious while not actually doing those things she expects you to do. I have struggled with what to name her. In trying to describe her, I told one friend this: "You know how they say someone looks like 40 miles of bad highway? Well, she looks like 60 miles of bad highway." Then, while telling my friend who got me into this job about her over a cigarette out back, he said this: "She runs into people all the time and then tells them they need to watch where they're going. She's okay though. You'll get used to her."
I don't want to get used to her.
"She comes off bitchy, but she's really not." Pause. "She is skanky though," he said, wrinkling up his nose. That's the word!! She is skanky! For now, I'm going to skip my stories of woe with her. I'll monitor her attitude and record every transgression for a later blog. Let's just say, she had me shaking with anger, and she will not be forgiven easily. My buddy confirmed that she is a bad server. She's been there for years, and still has never been moved over to the front dining room. Girls who started in December are already promoted to the front dining room. Remember this information about Skanky when I talk about her again.
Sunday brought a carnival of fun. I was scheduled for my final training shift to learn the breakfast routine, which, by the way, is HUGE on Sundays. I woke up before my alarm. Amazing. I arrived to work on time, thanks in large part to the joyful surprise of finding most of the stoplights blinking yellow in the early Sunday a.m. I made exactly one stop in over four miles of avenue traffic lights. I was in a good mood about that when I arrived five minutes early.
The boss (the owner) greeted me after I'd punched in. I told him not to take it personally if I wasn't chatty, as I am not much of a morning person. He gave me a hearty, "Get some coffee!" with a cheerful note in his voice. A few minutes later he told me I might have to take a few tables. I thought that was cool, since I can make more money actually waiting on people than I can following someone on a training wage. That 'take a few tables' turned into 'here's your section, I'll try not to slam you.' Whee.
By 9:30 am we were starting to fill up. Before I could blink, it was lunch time. I hit a few snags, but overall the morning went okay. There were some very good things happening yesterday. My last table (which is always so important because it is your lasting impression of your shift) was a pair of friends--older women who had Bloody Mary's, coffee and the 2-egg breakfast combo. Each had a bill of about $10 or $12 bucks. I netted an $8 tip. That is a happy ending to a hectic morning shift. Staying to be an actual server and not a trainee meant I'd just stay through the day for my second shift instead of going home between shifts as I had planned. That saves $8 in gas. Perhaps the best thing that happened yesterday was something that has a bigger better chance at netting me a lasting income. The boss bartends on Sundays. I had some drinking tables yesterday morning so I kept him working. Everyone knows that a happy boss is a boss who sees his employees making him money. Drinks are money-makers in the foodservice industry. And, we were a bit understaffed since I was just a trainee and became a weak link. But the boss didn't think so. And one of the gals who likes me told me just what the boss was saying. Apparently, he was impressed with me. He told people, "She's never even worked a breakfast and she's getting killed--and keeping up!" He likes my pace. He likes my style. Very cool.
And so we go. Change is so difficult. I am adjusting to the place on the avenue so well that I think I could actually get up early every Sunday to live to tell the tale of the $100 breakfast shift. The new schedule comes out Wednesday. I got the distinct feeling from Fluffers last night that I am getting preferential treatment. We'll see if my 10-minute awkward conversation left an impression on her. I'm hoping good work ethic nets good work nights. I have a feeling it will. Especially if the boss looks over her shoulder while she puts the pencil to paper.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Question For the Masses
Or, the five of you who read my blog! :p
It's acutely obvious that the new job is not panning out as well as I'd hoped. I've given a whole lot of thought to the situation as it stands before me. Meander through my thoughts for a moment, if you will.
The best parts of the new job:
It will most certainly get better.
I've already got the highly sought-after Friday night shift. (Next week)!
Last night was better than Monday and Tuesday, though still not up to my minimum needed green.
The atmosphere jives with what I know and can thrive in.
The worst parts of the new job:
The extra miles on a stoplight laden avenue. (I have to leave early, and withstand the traffic annoyance).
Everyone is in by 4:30 and nobody leaves until at least 9:00, no matter how slow it is.
It's not gonna pay my bills right now, which is not a luxury I can enjoy.
There's certain to be early weekend shifts. (Bah! No 5:30am alarm for me)!!
My dilemma then, is how to create a schedule that nets me the best of corporate with the best of the new place? I need to get specific with both of my schedulers, without alienating either of them. There's always a 'favorite' factor when they sit down to jot out a schedule. I'm treading thin ice here to make sure I don't get shafted on one or both of the schedules.
Fluffers is in need of servers. Her staff is down one for a life-threatening injury, and another one in a week and a half for a move out of town. Theoretically, anything I can help her with is a boon to her. Realistically, she may relegate me to cruddy shifts if I protest the already cruddy shifts I don't want to work. Then there's the corporate scheduling. There's an abundance of servers right now, so he doesn't need to give me anything if he doesn't want to. He did follow my suggestion for this week's schedule, but gave me a cruddy opening shift for my one night request. Are you starting to see the thin line?
What I think I need to do is give each one of them a block of the week that I can work for each of them. The conflict in that is having a day off. If I tell corporate I can work Mon-Wed and Fluffers that I can work Thur-Sun, you know I won't have any nights off. Do I delegate my own day off and give them my availability according to that? Will they both be peeved and give me two nights out of the nights I'm available to them? Is there an easy answer to any of this? Can anybody offer a sage word of advice?
It's acutely obvious that the new job is not panning out as well as I'd hoped. I've given a whole lot of thought to the situation as it stands before me. Meander through my thoughts for a moment, if you will.
The best parts of the new job:
It will most certainly get better.
I've already got the highly sought-after Friday night shift. (Next week)!
Last night was better than Monday and Tuesday, though still not up to my minimum needed green.
The atmosphere jives with what I know and can thrive in.
The worst parts of the new job:
The extra miles on a stoplight laden avenue. (I have to leave early, and withstand the traffic annoyance).
Everyone is in by 4:30 and nobody leaves until at least 9:00, no matter how slow it is.
It's not gonna pay my bills right now, which is not a luxury I can enjoy.
There's certain to be early weekend shifts. (Bah! No 5:30am alarm for me)!!
My dilemma then, is how to create a schedule that nets me the best of corporate with the best of the new place? I need to get specific with both of my schedulers, without alienating either of them. There's always a 'favorite' factor when they sit down to jot out a schedule. I'm treading thin ice here to make sure I don't get shafted on one or both of the schedules.
Fluffers is in need of servers. Her staff is down one for a life-threatening injury, and another one in a week and a half for a move out of town. Theoretically, anything I can help her with is a boon to her. Realistically, she may relegate me to cruddy shifts if I protest the already cruddy shifts I don't want to work. Then there's the corporate scheduling. There's an abundance of servers right now, so he doesn't need to give me anything if he doesn't want to. He did follow my suggestion for this week's schedule, but gave me a cruddy opening shift for my one night request. Are you starting to see the thin line?
What I think I need to do is give each one of them a block of the week that I can work for each of them. The conflict in that is having a day off. If I tell corporate I can work Mon-Wed and Fluffers that I can work Thur-Sun, you know I won't have any nights off. Do I delegate my own day off and give them my availability according to that? Will they both be peeved and give me two nights out of the nights I'm available to them? Is there an easy answer to any of this? Can anybody offer a sage word of advice?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
And the Party Never Ends
Last night at work was another financial train wreck. I'm talking monumental crash here. I can't drive in for what I'm making. Something has to change. Sitting outside at 6:45 last night with one table that was paid up, I contemplated my sad state of financial affairs. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how I've managed to downgrade my job status yet again. By the time I set the cruise for the ride home, I was near tears. I don't want to talk about my tumultuous job carousel right now.
I will tell you that my landlord received two very similar emails regarding one dipshit maintenance man. It should yield a very interesting outcome. I would love to hear what the landlord says to DSMM when he calls him to berate him for his mishandling of the home he owns and two women occupy. I think I'm overly excited about this because it is the one lashing out I can see bearing some satisfaction. [insert evil laugh here]
The basement woes continue. I went down this morning to do a load of laundry in what I thought was my still functional washer. Turns out DSMM used my hot water to do the power washing. Of course he didn't bother to reconnect the hot water hose. When I screwed the hose back on, it leaked. Another try netted the same result. I believe the rubber washer is missing. He probably power washed that puppy right down my drain. Need I say more? I won't. I won't do it.
The window remains wide open for critters to wander into the basement. The incomplete clean up remains. There is no dryer. The washer doesn't function. The road goes on forever....
I will tell you that my landlord received two very similar emails regarding one dipshit maintenance man. It should yield a very interesting outcome. I would love to hear what the landlord says to DSMM when he calls him to berate him for his mishandling of the home he owns and two women occupy. I think I'm overly excited about this because it is the one lashing out I can see bearing some satisfaction. [insert evil laugh here]
The basement woes continue. I went down this morning to do a load of laundry in what I thought was my still functional washer. Turns out DSMM used my hot water to do the power washing. Of course he didn't bother to reconnect the hot water hose. When I screwed the hose back on, it leaked. Another try netted the same result. I believe the rubber washer is missing. He probably power washed that puppy right down my drain. Need I say more? I won't. I won't do it.
The window remains wide open for critters to wander into the basement. The incomplete clean up remains. There is no dryer. The washer doesn't function. The road goes on forever....
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The Band Played On
Last night was my first solo shift at the place on the avenue. I was so pleased when the tables started coming in early. Not like last week during training when the first two hours were void of any real business. I was thinking, "Wow! Mondays kick-start early!" Then these guys in green vests started getting in our way, coming through the kitchen door, stopping in the office off the kitchen proper. (Does every kitchen in every restaurant have an office off to the side? I swear they do)!
When I figured out, and remembered from last week's training, that Mondays are band nights, I began to see why the customers were all senior citizens. And why the dining room was full by 5:45 pm. I was also feeling pretty lucky to have the front row seats for my tables. Surely they must be 'out and about' kind of people who would understand the protocol of tipping fat for such wonderful entertainment. Err, right?
Here's how it went down for Night Number One. I got four tables before 6:00 pm. They ate salads, burgers, light fare. Then, they sat with their sodas and coffee until 8:00 pm. We cleaned up the kitchen and completed our side work, chatted among ourselves. I made myself busy by expediting for those who actually got new tables during the second set. I cleared and wiped some tables since we didn't have a busboy. I followed protocol and asked Fluffers if I could go have a cigarette when my tables were all paid and there weren't any unbussed tables in the dining room. I enjoyed a cup of soup and roll before the tear-down began. (Soup and a roll is our one freebie. We don't get much of a discount on food otherwise. I've never worked anywhere that staff didn't get a half-price or at least 25% off of food. This is a major disappointment since their food looks positively delicious). Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The clock moved, but slowly. Surprisingly, the night did get over with pretty fast, given the fact that all of my tables were seated before 6:00 and I didn't punch out until 9:30. I attribute that to the newness of the experience.
I had two ho-hum tables; just the usual older couple. I managed to order the wrong half salad for one woman, and hit the wrong booze for one man's martini. I had the single guy in a wheelchair who is a regular. He doesn't tip, so I shouldn't feel bad according to the other waitresses. The ninja on the staff bolstered me with, "You don't get a tip, but you get good kharma from giving him good service!" Ohhhh-kay.
Then there was the star table. An older woman sat down and waited for her two friends. When I asked if there would be three of them, she told me she wasn't sure. It might be two, or it might be three. "It depends on if Delores brings Leona." In the end, it was a four-top. The table saver looked to be about 75-80. She was actually 92. Bright and beautiful, I complimented her on her youthful looks when she revealed her true age. I love these discoveries about the elderly. Even so, she wasn't my favorite at the table. The woman with the freckles and shoulder-length white hair won my affection. When I asked her what she'd like to drink, she pulled me in and told me to put it all on one bill and give it to her. Coolness. She ate as a vegetarian, drank a glass of wine, and was the only one at the table to indulge in pie and ice cream for dessert. She impressed me with her zest for enjoying the moment! She was sweet, complimentary for the great service, and just bubbly. She made me think she was someone I would like to have been friends with in our twenties. When she paid the bill ($59.06), she told me to put $10.00 on for a tip. When I brought the slip back, she handed me $2.00 and told me she realized she didn't tell me to put enough on, "so, here's two more dollars...you were terrific!" I knew I liked her for a reason. For those who are not aware, senior citizens rarely tip 20%, which is the standard if you are very pleased with your service. (Does this mean that senior citizens are rarely very satisfied?)??
The star table enjoyed the band immensely. It seemed the entire dining room did, actually. Toes were tapping, hands were keeping time on the table, and occasionally hands were clapping with the beat. Our Monday night felt like a Sunday afternoon on a patio table in New Orleans. I have to admit that I really liked the old time live music with the brass blasting out those jazzy tunes, the guest woman singer who sang like June Carter Cash in her last years, the aged wise vocals of men who may have fought for our freedoms in their younger days. It made for a better Monday. Everyone left a little happier than when they'd arrived for the efforts of a group of men who enjoy this little gig they scored for every Monday of the summer. I'm not sure if the audience or the band was more grateful for the evening that had just passed when it was all over. It was sweet, and American, and wholesome. And while it did not net me an evening worth my time monetarily, it was still a fascinating first night at the traditional place on the avenue.
Not being busy with tables afforded me the opportunity to scope out the cast of characters in more depth. The queen bee of the hive emerged last night. I had not worked with her in my training. One learns quickly to stay out of her way. 22 years on the job allows her to be bitchy, I guess. Genuine smiles from her probably stopped at least a decade ago. I won't be engaging her in any outside conversation. The gay man who thinks he is the best server ever is really just a bloated ego who tries to avoid work. The rest of the serving gang is pretty fun. They blend into a jovial entourage who will step in and help when necessary, and crack a joke when you need to hear one.
Hopefully, the tantalizing Tuesday specials will bring in a better crowd that makes the eight bucks I spend in gas getting there worth it. I can chalk up last night as more training, but if the money doesn't start coming in, I'm gonna need Fluffers to tell my landlord why I don't have the rent. I have to admit that I was a little stressed thinking that I would have made more at corporate last night. The scheduling nightmare that is occurring because I can't pin down any definite nights with my new hostess is frightening. I had to let six nights go unscheduled at corporate since I don't know what Fluffers has in mind. Does she know that nobody else is paying my bills, except me? I'm out on a limb that I have no business being on. The rest of this week will be very entertaining (in a sarcastic way). I'm going to think GREEN all week and hope for the best. There's always the chance that I can pick up a shift at corporate on my "day off." (I think "day off" is a term that is leaving my vocabulary).
It's tough to be calm in the storm of this job shuffle. The stress is making me tired. I come home, eat a late simple meal, and crash before midnight. I am never asleep before midnight! Until now. Now, I fall asleep on the couch and can't drag myself to bed when I wake up at 3:00 am because I'm too tired to walk that far. So I roll over and fall fast asleep again.
Someday I'm gonna figure out what it all means. Until then, the band plays on....
When I figured out, and remembered from last week's training, that Mondays are band nights, I began to see why the customers were all senior citizens. And why the dining room was full by 5:45 pm. I was also feeling pretty lucky to have the front row seats for my tables. Surely they must be 'out and about' kind of people who would understand the protocol of tipping fat for such wonderful entertainment. Err, right?
Here's how it went down for Night Number One. I got four tables before 6:00 pm. They ate salads, burgers, light fare. Then, they sat with their sodas and coffee until 8:00 pm. We cleaned up the kitchen and completed our side work, chatted among ourselves. I made myself busy by expediting for those who actually got new tables during the second set. I cleared and wiped some tables since we didn't have a busboy. I followed protocol and asked Fluffers if I could go have a cigarette when my tables were all paid and there weren't any unbussed tables in the dining room. I enjoyed a cup of soup and roll before the tear-down began. (Soup and a roll is our one freebie. We don't get much of a discount on food otherwise. I've never worked anywhere that staff didn't get a half-price or at least 25% off of food. This is a major disappointment since their food looks positively delicious). Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The clock moved, but slowly. Surprisingly, the night did get over with pretty fast, given the fact that all of my tables were seated before 6:00 and I didn't punch out until 9:30. I attribute that to the newness of the experience.
I had two ho-hum tables; just the usual older couple. I managed to order the wrong half salad for one woman, and hit the wrong booze for one man's martini. I had the single guy in a wheelchair who is a regular. He doesn't tip, so I shouldn't feel bad according to the other waitresses. The ninja on the staff bolstered me with, "You don't get a tip, but you get good kharma from giving him good service!" Ohhhh-kay.
Then there was the star table. An older woman sat down and waited for her two friends. When I asked if there would be three of them, she told me she wasn't sure. It might be two, or it might be three. "It depends on if Delores brings Leona." In the end, it was a four-top. The table saver looked to be about 75-80. She was actually 92. Bright and beautiful, I complimented her on her youthful looks when she revealed her true age. I love these discoveries about the elderly. Even so, she wasn't my favorite at the table. The woman with the freckles and shoulder-length white hair won my affection. When I asked her what she'd like to drink, she pulled me in and told me to put it all on one bill and give it to her. Coolness. She ate as a vegetarian, drank a glass of wine, and was the only one at the table to indulge in pie and ice cream for dessert. She impressed me with her zest for enjoying the moment! She was sweet, complimentary for the great service, and just bubbly. She made me think she was someone I would like to have been friends with in our twenties. When she paid the bill ($59.06), she told me to put $10.00 on for a tip. When I brought the slip back, she handed me $2.00 and told me she realized she didn't tell me to put enough on, "so, here's two more dollars...you were terrific!" I knew I liked her for a reason. For those who are not aware, senior citizens rarely tip 20%, which is the standard if you are very pleased with your service. (Does this mean that senior citizens are rarely very satisfied?)??
The star table enjoyed the band immensely. It seemed the entire dining room did, actually. Toes were tapping, hands were keeping time on the table, and occasionally hands were clapping with the beat. Our Monday night felt like a Sunday afternoon on a patio table in New Orleans. I have to admit that I really liked the old time live music with the brass blasting out those jazzy tunes, the guest woman singer who sang like June Carter Cash in her last years, the aged wise vocals of men who may have fought for our freedoms in their younger days. It made for a better Monday. Everyone left a little happier than when they'd arrived for the efforts of a group of men who enjoy this little gig they scored for every Monday of the summer. I'm not sure if the audience or the band was more grateful for the evening that had just passed when it was all over. It was sweet, and American, and wholesome. And while it did not net me an evening worth my time monetarily, it was still a fascinating first night at the traditional place on the avenue.
Not being busy with tables afforded me the opportunity to scope out the cast of characters in more depth. The queen bee of the hive emerged last night. I had not worked with her in my training. One learns quickly to stay out of her way. 22 years on the job allows her to be bitchy, I guess. Genuine smiles from her probably stopped at least a decade ago. I won't be engaging her in any outside conversation. The gay man who thinks he is the best server ever is really just a bloated ego who tries to avoid work. The rest of the serving gang is pretty fun. They blend into a jovial entourage who will step in and help when necessary, and crack a joke when you need to hear one.
Hopefully, the tantalizing Tuesday specials will bring in a better crowd that makes the eight bucks I spend in gas getting there worth it. I can chalk up last night as more training, but if the money doesn't start coming in, I'm gonna need Fluffers to tell my landlord why I don't have the rent. I have to admit that I was a little stressed thinking that I would have made more at corporate last night. The scheduling nightmare that is occurring because I can't pin down any definite nights with my new hostess is frightening. I had to let six nights go unscheduled at corporate since I don't know what Fluffers has in mind. Does she know that nobody else is paying my bills, except me? I'm out on a limb that I have no business being on. The rest of this week will be very entertaining (in a sarcastic way). I'm going to think GREEN all week and hope for the best. There's always the chance that I can pick up a shift at corporate on my "day off." (I think "day off" is a term that is leaving my vocabulary).
It's tough to be calm in the storm of this job shuffle. The stress is making me tired. I come home, eat a late simple meal, and crash before midnight. I am never asleep before midnight! Until now. Now, I fall asleep on the couch and can't drag myself to bed when I wake up at 3:00 am because I'm too tired to walk that far. So I roll over and fall fast asleep again.
Someday I'm gonna figure out what it all means. Until then, the band plays on....
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Cracking Up!
I went to do a few errands last night. When I got to the corner, where there's a big house, there were a bunch of kids playing in the open yard. Only a few trees and bushes inhabit this yard. I looked to my left to see almost all of the children running toward the corner. One girl hid behind a bush closer to the house. As my gaze went from the frolicking kids to her in her hiding spot, she looked at me with big eyes and put her finger to her closed lips. I guess she thought my knowledge of her whereabouts was a threat! It tickled me all the way to the store that her instinct told her to keep her cover and warn passersby not to give up her stellar spot where nobody would find her!
I'm also cracking up over MM (Maintenance Man/Married Man). What a jackass. He took my dryer from the basement last night. Mind you, I was home with the tv on and open windows. There were lights on, and he walked past my garage and had to have seen my car in there. Did he come up and tell me when I could expect a new dryer? No, he did not. Hell hath no fury like Little Man Rejected. I considered calling him and being civil to ask when I'd be getting a new dryer, and to show him how modern humanity works, then decided that I wouldn't want to waste my time on such a puny person.
This morning my downstairs neighbor called me to vent. MM is coming over tomorrow to power wash the basements. Apparently, he was planning on using muriatic acid to clean up the bacteria and mold down there. Since he needed to use my neighbor's basement to take my dryer out, he talked to her. It was in this passing conversation that he mentioned the overkill of his plans for our basements. Clearly, a simple bleach solution is all that is needed. The downstairs neighbor (DN) has respiratory issues, so this announcement obviously concerned her. Upon my recommendation, she researched the properties and pitfalls of muriatic acid. Turns out, this could be pretty deadly to her compromised lungs.
DN called the landlord, knowing that calling cranky-ass MM would not be fruitful. Unfortunately, the landlord is in Iowa providing disaster relief so he asked DN to call the blustery one with directives from the landlord to use bleach. My DN did just that, only to get a tirade of reasons that muriatic acid is okay to use. (He doesn't even don a mask when he uses it)! Whoopity-Doo! All that proves is that he's a dumbass. DN was very polite and tried to deflect the blame on herself, yet she still got a deluge of comments made to make her feel like she was stupid. In the end, he finally just said, "Whatever," and hung up on her.
Why I am cracking up over this? Well, "Mister Idiot/My Brain Quit Developing When I Was Eight Years-Old" has pissed me off, and I am working on getting him his just desserts. He will soon learn that you reap what you sow. Yes, I am going to become the snivelly tattle-tale he will abhor. And just to set the record straight, this has little to do with the married and dating part of who he is, and everything to do with his ill behavior as the maintenance man in a house he gets paid to fix. When he came through the shared entry way last night with his own keys, helped himself to my basement, then went out the other basement exit, he neglected to lock the shared entry way upon his departure. This entrance has a shared hallway that leads directly into each of our living rooms. I understand we aren't living in downtown Milwaukee, but there is a certain expectation that you will leave locked doors locked, and notify the residents when you are coming into their living spaces. I would venture to guess that my landlord will not take kindly to his residents complaining about his maintenance man's poor behavior.
I just have to laugh at MM's inept social skills. The man possesses not an ounce of couth. There's a lot of water here causing damage. In MM's case, it's going to be hot water.
I'm also cracking up over MM (Maintenance Man/Married Man). What a jackass. He took my dryer from the basement last night. Mind you, I was home with the tv on and open windows. There were lights on, and he walked past my garage and had to have seen my car in there. Did he come up and tell me when I could expect a new dryer? No, he did not. Hell hath no fury like Little Man Rejected. I considered calling him and being civil to ask when I'd be getting a new dryer, and to show him how modern humanity works, then decided that I wouldn't want to waste my time on such a puny person.
This morning my downstairs neighbor called me to vent. MM is coming over tomorrow to power wash the basements. Apparently, he was planning on using muriatic acid to clean up the bacteria and mold down there. Since he needed to use my neighbor's basement to take my dryer out, he talked to her. It was in this passing conversation that he mentioned the overkill of his plans for our basements. Clearly, a simple bleach solution is all that is needed. The downstairs neighbor (DN) has respiratory issues, so this announcement obviously concerned her. Upon my recommendation, she researched the properties and pitfalls of muriatic acid. Turns out, this could be pretty deadly to her compromised lungs.
DN called the landlord, knowing that calling cranky-ass MM would not be fruitful. Unfortunately, the landlord is in Iowa providing disaster relief so he asked DN to call the blustery one with directives from the landlord to use bleach. My DN did just that, only to get a tirade of reasons that muriatic acid is okay to use. (He doesn't even don a mask when he uses it)! Whoopity-Doo! All that proves is that he's a dumbass. DN was very polite and tried to deflect the blame on herself, yet she still got a deluge of comments made to make her feel like she was stupid. In the end, he finally just said, "Whatever," and hung up on her.
Why I am cracking up over this? Well, "Mister Idiot/My Brain Quit Developing When I Was Eight Years-Old" has pissed me off, and I am working on getting him his just desserts. He will soon learn that you reap what you sow. Yes, I am going to become the snivelly tattle-tale he will abhor. And just to set the record straight, this has little to do with the married and dating part of who he is, and everything to do with his ill behavior as the maintenance man in a house he gets paid to fix. When he came through the shared entry way last night with his own keys, helped himself to my basement, then went out the other basement exit, he neglected to lock the shared entry way upon his departure. This entrance has a shared hallway that leads directly into each of our living rooms. I understand we aren't living in downtown Milwaukee, but there is a certain expectation that you will leave locked doors locked, and notify the residents when you are coming into their living spaces. I would venture to guess that my landlord will not take kindly to his residents complaining about his maintenance man's poor behavior.
I just have to laugh at MM's inept social skills. The man possesses not an ounce of couth. There's a lot of water here causing damage. In MM's case, it's going to be hot water.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Upon Taking a New Job
In sharp contrast to the corporate training I completed last September that took three weeks, I fast-forwarded through this new restaurant's training in three days. They make you wear your own polo shirt until you complete the training, then hand you their logo-ed polo shirt if you actually finish. I received my diploma shirt last night at punch-out.
There was no liquor test, table number test, menu test, training exit interview, blah, blah, blah. Man, it's just serving food. Take a chill pill, corporate. I like the relaxed atmosphere at the new place. I like that the gals who trained me saw little need to micromanage the instruction of a seasoned waitress. I enjoyed the parade of regulars who inhabited the tables; this means there will be business even when the events of the city are slow. I am thrilled that most of the customers are 20% tippers. I am ecstatic that half of what I am forced to tip out at corporate is what is expected here. There are many positive aspects about the place on the avenue.
There also some down sides. Most notable is the added drive time in traffic. I hate city driving. It annoys me. For the chance to double my income, I will make the drive and try not to let myself get frustrated by the red light waiting. I disapprove of the salad-making process at the new place. Why would you not make salads ahead and have them ready? Making salads during the rush doesn't seem like the most efficient use of waitstaff energy. Nevermind that there's no counter space to make them once you ice-bath all of your salad products. Oh well. If this is the worst thing I have to deal with, things will be okay.
The cast of characters at the place on the avenue is pure gold. There's the dining room manager whose name is appropriate for a pet. Let's call her Fluffers. Fluffers has been a fixture in this place for decades, and most of the waitstaff rolls theirs eyes when she speaks. Pretty normal behavior, so I think I'll fit in. The gal who trained me the first two nights might be seen on a women's wrestling show, and the third night trainer was a newly crowned legal drinker who could be a beauty pageant winner. A waitress I hadn't met yet came in crying to tell the manager she had to take a leave of absence for a pretty major spinal problem. Another girl came to work shouting with glee as she entered the back kitchen door. "I got the job! I got the job!" Sounded like a job that could free her from the chains of serving at almost $20 an hour. Several gay men serve there, and a complete cast of others who have day jobs and families. The kitchen guys are laid back. A Spanish guy, an Asian man, and a couple of tall white dudes It is, by all industry standards, a normal restaurant crew.
There's an odd feeling I wasn't expecting in this job change. I feel a twinge of sadness about wriggling away from the corporate home I found. I thought about that for awhile last night. I believe some of that comes from the innate camaraderie that develops in the restaurant business. No matter the differences, we all understand the hell we go through behind the scenes. Diners don't know about the demands we make to ensure that they get what they want, the obstacle courses that exist in the kitchens behind the beautiful dining rooms they frequent, or the aches we live with after carrying those heavy trays that transport those delicious dinners they devour. I'm not complaining because I know every job has its own pitfalls. The knots in my shoulders will be there forever. The typist's carpal tunnel will affect all aspects of chores that require hand movement, the assembly line worker deals with leg cramps and clots from long hours of standing in one place. Servers have commonality that ties us together from the repeated nights of fast-paced service. I'll miss the shared existence with those kids who have never worked another kitchen. But, in truth, they don't know how much better it can be.
I am both delighted and befuddled by another realization as I move over to the supper club atmosphere that suits me better. I actually learned something from corporate. Yep, I have a few new tricks. It's hard to believe that I did learn something new, but I sure did. I would tell you what I learned, but I don't divulge that information. Secrets of the trade, if you will. Sometimes when you go out, you get a waitress who just knows what you need, and takes really great care of you. The whole night seems better because you scored a great server. That's the server I want to be--every single time. So, disclosing my secrets would take away the magic of that perfect night out, wouldn't it? You don't want to know how the magician made the impossible happen. I don't want to disillusion you, either. ;)
The job that was supposed to be three nights a week has netted me six shifts for my first week. This poses somewhat of a problem since the corporate job is still in full-swing too. Whoops. This is what happens when Fluffer has a couple of servers gone and you tell her to schedule you for whatever she needs. It's also what happens when two schedules are done on different schedules. One starts on a Thursday while the other one starts on a Sunday. The crossover makes for a very confused double-booked waitress. I think I may be working 10 days in a row for a couple of weeks until this settles into a routine. Better to have more work than I need than not enough, right?
Stay tuned to see how my adventures at the place on the avenue proceed!
There was no liquor test, table number test, menu test, training exit interview, blah, blah, blah. Man, it's just serving food. Take a chill pill, corporate. I like the relaxed atmosphere at the new place. I like that the gals who trained me saw little need to micromanage the instruction of a seasoned waitress. I enjoyed the parade of regulars who inhabited the tables; this means there will be business even when the events of the city are slow. I am thrilled that most of the customers are 20% tippers. I am ecstatic that half of what I am forced to tip out at corporate is what is expected here. There are many positive aspects about the place on the avenue.
There also some down sides. Most notable is the added drive time in traffic. I hate city driving. It annoys me. For the chance to double my income, I will make the drive and try not to let myself get frustrated by the red light waiting. I disapprove of the salad-making process at the new place. Why would you not make salads ahead and have them ready? Making salads during the rush doesn't seem like the most efficient use of waitstaff energy. Nevermind that there's no counter space to make them once you ice-bath all of your salad products. Oh well. If this is the worst thing I have to deal with, things will be okay.
The cast of characters at the place on the avenue is pure gold. There's the dining room manager whose name is appropriate for a pet. Let's call her Fluffers. Fluffers has been a fixture in this place for decades, and most of the waitstaff rolls theirs eyes when she speaks. Pretty normal behavior, so I think I'll fit in. The gal who trained me the first two nights might be seen on a women's wrestling show, and the third night trainer was a newly crowned legal drinker who could be a beauty pageant winner. A waitress I hadn't met yet came in crying to tell the manager she had to take a leave of absence for a pretty major spinal problem. Another girl came to work shouting with glee as she entered the back kitchen door. "I got the job! I got the job!" Sounded like a job that could free her from the chains of serving at almost $20 an hour. Several gay men serve there, and a complete cast of others who have day jobs and families. The kitchen guys are laid back. A Spanish guy, an Asian man, and a couple of tall white dudes It is, by all industry standards, a normal restaurant crew.
There's an odd feeling I wasn't expecting in this job change. I feel a twinge of sadness about wriggling away from the corporate home I found. I thought about that for awhile last night. I believe some of that comes from the innate camaraderie that develops in the restaurant business. No matter the differences, we all understand the hell we go through behind the scenes. Diners don't know about the demands we make to ensure that they get what they want, the obstacle courses that exist in the kitchens behind the beautiful dining rooms they frequent, or the aches we live with after carrying those heavy trays that transport those delicious dinners they devour. I'm not complaining because I know every job has its own pitfalls. The knots in my shoulders will be there forever. The typist's carpal tunnel will affect all aspects of chores that require hand movement, the assembly line worker deals with leg cramps and clots from long hours of standing in one place. Servers have commonality that ties us together from the repeated nights of fast-paced service. I'll miss the shared existence with those kids who have never worked another kitchen. But, in truth, they don't know how much better it can be.
I am both delighted and befuddled by another realization as I move over to the supper club atmosphere that suits me better. I actually learned something from corporate. Yep, I have a few new tricks. It's hard to believe that I did learn something new, but I sure did. I would tell you what I learned, but I don't divulge that information. Secrets of the trade, if you will. Sometimes when you go out, you get a waitress who just knows what you need, and takes really great care of you. The whole night seems better because you scored a great server. That's the server I want to be--every single time. So, disclosing my secrets would take away the magic of that perfect night out, wouldn't it? You don't want to know how the magician made the impossible happen. I don't want to disillusion you, either. ;)
The job that was supposed to be three nights a week has netted me six shifts for my first week. This poses somewhat of a problem since the corporate job is still in full-swing too. Whoops. This is what happens when Fluffer has a couple of servers gone and you tell her to schedule you for whatever she needs. It's also what happens when two schedules are done on different schedules. One starts on a Thursday while the other one starts on a Sunday. The crossover makes for a very confused double-booked waitress. I think I may be working 10 days in a row for a couple of weeks until this settles into a routine. Better to have more work than I need than not enough, right?
Stay tuned to see how my adventures at the place on the avenue proceed!
Friday, June 06, 2008
You Think You Know Somebody
I was recently contacted by a money-finder person. She told me that she thought I was due some unclaimed insurance money through my grandparents on my dad's side. Being the frugal sleuth that I am, I immediately thought that if this was for real, and it was really money that was coming to me, I could do this without her taking 20% of my money for doing a little legwork. Legwork, I can do!
I investigated the matter with the information the easy money lady gave me on my contract. A few well-placed phone calls put me in touch with the state treasury who has this unclaimed fund. Paperwork was mailed to me, and discussions with my brother were underway to complete the necessary steps to getting this free money. I've done the hard part, and we are turning in our packet of proof that we are who we say we are next week.
I have to say that it's definitely awesome to get this little windfall. Financial matters for me and brother have been tough for awhile, so we are tickled to be getting this treasure. It's enough to make you blink, but not enough to be a real big deal. The bonus to this is that we both thought the amount the money-finder had on our contracts was the total, (which would net us each a quarter of that) not the amount due us. Turns out, that amount is the total amount due us! My aunt gets half, and me and my brother split my deceased dad's portion. This is where the equation of how this came to pass gets interesting.
My brother and I are in line for the inheritance solely because my dad died before his parents. I don't understand exactly why it works this way, but had my dad died AFTER his parents, this money would be my mom's. (I think we should give my mom a little bit, but I haven't talked to my brother about this yet). Now, I was under the impression that this insurance money was a policy that my grandparents had taken out for their children--my dad and his sister. Yesterday, while trying to fill out the proof of heirship form, I got a little confused. I have to fill this out because there was no will. My aunt confirmed this when I talked to her. She also seemed baffled by where this policy came from since she was the one who cleaned out the apartment after my grandmother died. No policy existed and no key to a safety deposit box surfaced. (More on this later). I called the Unclaimed Property Office to ask exactly what was expected on this form. Normally, you get a snitty woman who acts like you are bothering her. Yesterday, I got a very nice man who replied with, "Gooood question" when I asked if I needed to fill out two proof of heirship forms since it looked like there were two policies, one for each grandparent. (It turns out, I need to prove I'm my dad's daughter, so I only need to fill out one proof of heirship).
The nice man and I had a conversation about the policy after he brought up my claim number and looked at the specifics. We had to chronicle the death order, which is how I found out exactly why I'm in line for this instead of my mother. Then I told him that I was under the impression that this was a policy the grandparents had taken out for their children. This is when he corrected that notion. He informed me that this was a policy that was taken out for my grandmother, with my grandfather as the beneficiary. Oh my. And nobody knew about this policy! Oh, oh, oh! My grandpa took out a little insurance because he was sure his frail tiny wife would die before him. Shocking. In reality, my granddad passed away first. My grandmother only lived eight months more than him, like you hear so often with two people who have been married so long. But indeed, she outlived him. My guess is that she knew nothing of the policy. This also explains why my aunt never encountered any evidence of this in her finalizing of their estate.
I don't think any less of my grandfather for having this policy without my grandmother's knowledge. On the contrary, it tickles my funny bone that he secretly took this out thinking that he'd surely outlive her and might enjoy a little cash in his loss. It's been a very nostalgic trip to encounter this money and get a glimpse of my family history. Poring over the death certificates makes me sad. My dad's death certificate makes me especially lonely. Amended to add the cause of death as suicide a week after it was filled out, it makes me wonder all over again what actually went through his mind. Was it suicide? Why does a daddy who had so much fun with his little kids kill himself? Did he kill himself or was it an error in judgment? Very interesting to ponder for this daughter.
Meanwhile, it's given me a better understanding of the folks who love family genealogy. I've sat and stared at those death certificates, reading my grandparents' mother's names, dates, causes, social security numbers, and times of death. It's old school. It's my family. It's a human life summed up on one document. Cool. And my grandpa had some secrets we just didn't know about. I wonder what other secrets those three people whose DNA runs through my blood had. We'll never know, but this has been a satisfying little journey into the past with the bonus of a very nice payoff.
I investigated the matter with the information the easy money lady gave me on my contract. A few well-placed phone calls put me in touch with the state treasury who has this unclaimed fund. Paperwork was mailed to me, and discussions with my brother were underway to complete the necessary steps to getting this free money. I've done the hard part, and we are turning in our packet of proof that we are who we say we are next week.
I have to say that it's definitely awesome to get this little windfall. Financial matters for me and brother have been tough for awhile, so we are tickled to be getting this treasure. It's enough to make you blink, but not enough to be a real big deal. The bonus to this is that we both thought the amount the money-finder had on our contracts was the total, (which would net us each a quarter of that) not the amount due us. Turns out, that amount is the total amount due us! My aunt gets half, and me and my brother split my deceased dad's portion. This is where the equation of how this came to pass gets interesting.
My brother and I are in line for the inheritance solely because my dad died before his parents. I don't understand exactly why it works this way, but had my dad died AFTER his parents, this money would be my mom's. (I think we should give my mom a little bit, but I haven't talked to my brother about this yet). Now, I was under the impression that this insurance money was a policy that my grandparents had taken out for their children--my dad and his sister. Yesterday, while trying to fill out the proof of heirship form, I got a little confused. I have to fill this out because there was no will. My aunt confirmed this when I talked to her. She also seemed baffled by where this policy came from since she was the one who cleaned out the apartment after my grandmother died. No policy existed and no key to a safety deposit box surfaced. (More on this later). I called the Unclaimed Property Office to ask exactly what was expected on this form. Normally, you get a snitty woman who acts like you are bothering her. Yesterday, I got a very nice man who replied with, "Gooood question" when I asked if I needed to fill out two proof of heirship forms since it looked like there were two policies, one for each grandparent. (It turns out, I need to prove I'm my dad's daughter, so I only need to fill out one proof of heirship).
The nice man and I had a conversation about the policy after he brought up my claim number and looked at the specifics. We had to chronicle the death order, which is how I found out exactly why I'm in line for this instead of my mother. Then I told him that I was under the impression that this was a policy the grandparents had taken out for their children. This is when he corrected that notion. He informed me that this was a policy that was taken out for my grandmother, with my grandfather as the beneficiary. Oh my. And nobody knew about this policy! Oh, oh, oh! My grandpa took out a little insurance because he was sure his frail tiny wife would die before him. Shocking. In reality, my granddad passed away first. My grandmother only lived eight months more than him, like you hear so often with two people who have been married so long. But indeed, she outlived him. My guess is that she knew nothing of the policy. This also explains why my aunt never encountered any evidence of this in her finalizing of their estate.
I don't think any less of my grandfather for having this policy without my grandmother's knowledge. On the contrary, it tickles my funny bone that he secretly took this out thinking that he'd surely outlive her and might enjoy a little cash in his loss. It's been a very nostalgic trip to encounter this money and get a glimpse of my family history. Poring over the death certificates makes me sad. My dad's death certificate makes me especially lonely. Amended to add the cause of death as suicide a week after it was filled out, it makes me wonder all over again what actually went through his mind. Was it suicide? Why does a daddy who had so much fun with his little kids kill himself? Did he kill himself or was it an error in judgment? Very interesting to ponder for this daughter.
Meanwhile, it's given me a better understanding of the folks who love family genealogy. I've sat and stared at those death certificates, reading my grandparents' mother's names, dates, causes, social security numbers, and times of death. It's old school. It's my family. It's a human life summed up on one document. Cool. And my grandpa had some secrets we just didn't know about. I wonder what other secrets those three people whose DNA runs through my blood had. We'll never know, but this has been a satisfying little journey into the past with the bonus of a very nice payoff.
Roller Coaster Ride
I had an interview yesterday for what appeared to be a job I could really dig. It still could be.
I showed up exactly on time for my interview amidst stormy weather, wearing a pair of smart looking slacks and a nice white sleeveless shirt. I had a resume in hand because I always think it shows your attention to detail after sending one electronically. The interviewers have always already printed it off, but I think they like that I thought of bringing another. At least, that's what I tell myself.
I met the Food & Beverage Director who got me a cup of coffee and said we'd sit at the corner pub table to talk. Then she said she wanted to get her executive chef to take part in the interview. That was very different.
We did the usual interview with the questions about my experience. We ran the scenario questions ("What would you do if two of your servers were going at it during a busy dinner service on a Friday night?"), and we chatted about the job description. The only unusual thing about this interview was having the chef driving the conversation. It got me to thinking about why he would have such a large part in deciding this position. After some thought, I have to think that between them they decided that the person who manages banquets has to understand the importance the kitchen (who MAKES the food) has in making an event successful.
I have to say, I think I was doing well with the chef. When we got to the end of the interview, and the "Do you have any questions for us?" section of the exam came up, I asked what we were talking about for 'salary' as listed in their ad. They couldn't give me an answer! What? I got a vague reply about it depending on the candidate. Understand, this is a position they have not had a need for in the past, so it is a new job. While I understand the new growth of a young golf course that is trying to expand, I also do not understand how they couldn't have a salary range in mind or why they would not be willing to share that information with the candidate. Not good.
And so the interview ended. I was the first person to come in, so I have to wait until Monday or Tuesday to find out my score. In typical 'rain or shine' fashion, in the interim between my call for an interview and the actual interview, I got another call from a friend who works at a restaurant that I've wanted to work at for a long time now. I got the shoe-in hire by his word on my reputation. Well, well...what to do?
Here's what I did. Based on advice from my best friend, I went in to talk to Fluffy without mentioning the other possible gig. Yeah, that's what they call hiring manager. (Anybody local know the restaurant? Don't name it if you do. I like the anonymous factor when I talk about my job on my blog). Fluffy told me that she could give me like three shifts a week for now, but that it would be more in the fall when the college kids take off again. And that is when the real big bucks get laid down there.
I'm penciled in for training on Tuesday and Wednesday. Oh boy. I am mulling the two options before me. Much will depend on the call I get from the golf course on Monday or Tuesday. I will be needing a salary figure when that call comes in if I'm the winning candidate. In essence, I have three days to sit and stew over these options, then I will have to be quick on my feet to make a split-second decision. I drift to one, then the other as the favorite, but truthfully, neither feels exactly right. I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that changing jobs is never easy. I know the ins and outs of each position; it's the unknown factors of the assistant job that make me indecisive.
In time, this will play out how it's going to play out. I think the restaurant job will pay better than where I'm at now, so it's probably something I need to give a chance. It's difficult because I'd still have to stay where I'm at a few nights a week until I work my way up the ladder of the new restaurant. It's all quite daunting. Stay tuned to find out where I am next week!
I showed up exactly on time for my interview amidst stormy weather, wearing a pair of smart looking slacks and a nice white sleeveless shirt. I had a resume in hand because I always think it shows your attention to detail after sending one electronically. The interviewers have always already printed it off, but I think they like that I thought of bringing another. At least, that's what I tell myself.
I met the Food & Beverage Director who got me a cup of coffee and said we'd sit at the corner pub table to talk. Then she said she wanted to get her executive chef to take part in the interview. That was very different.
We did the usual interview with the questions about my experience. We ran the scenario questions ("What would you do if two of your servers were going at it during a busy dinner service on a Friday night?"), and we chatted about the job description. The only unusual thing about this interview was having the chef driving the conversation. It got me to thinking about why he would have such a large part in deciding this position. After some thought, I have to think that between them they decided that the person who manages banquets has to understand the importance the kitchen (who MAKES the food) has in making an event successful.
I have to say, I think I was doing well with the chef. When we got to the end of the interview, and the "Do you have any questions for us?" section of the exam came up, I asked what we were talking about for 'salary' as listed in their ad. They couldn't give me an answer! What? I got a vague reply about it depending on the candidate. Understand, this is a position they have not had a need for in the past, so it is a new job. While I understand the new growth of a young golf course that is trying to expand, I also do not understand how they couldn't have a salary range in mind or why they would not be willing to share that information with the candidate. Not good.
And so the interview ended. I was the first person to come in, so I have to wait until Monday or Tuesday to find out my score. In typical 'rain or shine' fashion, in the interim between my call for an interview and the actual interview, I got another call from a friend who works at a restaurant that I've wanted to work at for a long time now. I got the shoe-in hire by his word on my reputation. Well, well...what to do?
Here's what I did. Based on advice from my best friend, I went in to talk to Fluffy without mentioning the other possible gig. Yeah, that's what they call hiring manager. (Anybody local know the restaurant? Don't name it if you do. I like the anonymous factor when I talk about my job on my blog). Fluffy told me that she could give me like three shifts a week for now, but that it would be more in the fall when the college kids take off again. And that is when the real big bucks get laid down there.
I'm penciled in for training on Tuesday and Wednesday. Oh boy. I am mulling the two options before me. Much will depend on the call I get from the golf course on Monday or Tuesday. I will be needing a salary figure when that call comes in if I'm the winning candidate. In essence, I have three days to sit and stew over these options, then I will have to be quick on my feet to make a split-second decision. I drift to one, then the other as the favorite, but truthfully, neither feels exactly right. I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that changing jobs is never easy. I know the ins and outs of each position; it's the unknown factors of the assistant job that make me indecisive.
In time, this will play out how it's going to play out. I think the restaurant job will pay better than where I'm at now, so it's probably something I need to give a chance. It's difficult because I'd still have to stay where I'm at a few nights a week until I work my way up the ladder of the new restaurant. It's all quite daunting. Stay tuned to find out where I am next week!
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
The Maintenance Man and the Mermaid
Once upon a time there was a mermaid who lived in a beautiful historic house in a little town in the Midwest. She enjoyed her sunny abode and found solace from the disappointments of life there. Then she dated a man who maintained her house and missed the peace that once permeated her world. The fairy tale you are about to read chronicles how she found that mesmerizing calm again.
My quote-unquote boyfriend is a constant source of disappointment. He doesn't read my blog, in spite of my giving him the link numerous times, so I can say whatever I want to about him. I can also tell the story about the dates I had in December that didn't work out at all when I was trying so hard to move on. Ugh! Said date has resurfaced again now that the weather is nice. He's the maintenance man where I live. Ugh! Why did I agree to go out with someone I'd have to deal with when it didn't work out?? Ugh! I'm stupid, that's why! But it's a funny story, so listen up and laugh with me!
The dates were "okay" but really only served to highlight the things I really missed about the quote-unquote boyfriend who I get along with so well (in spite of his shortcomings). Maintenance Man (let's call him Jake) is all about the "Me, My, Mine" in conversation. Everything is a contest to prove his is better, bigger, more important, and when it's not, it's self-effacing comments about how he doesn't measure up. (OMG! I have a hundred sentences ending in prepositions already. I'm no English teacher)! So, anyway, when the relationship is obviously not working for me (after a whopping three dates), he gets the hint and quits calling. I'm baffled, because I know he's interested, but also relieved, because I'm not. None of it matters because I'm too busy stressing over the immediate concerns of paying my bills, missing the quote-unquote boyfriend, and why I can't just say goodbye to a relationship that isn't living up to what I want.
Then the weather gets nice. There's lawn to mow. There's spring projects that require him to be here again. UGH! Now I'm being haunted by my poor choices--yet again! (I'm good at poor choices, despite the appearance of intelligence when you meet me). I digress. A few weeks ago, the downstairs tenant put in our request for some sticks to hold up the windows now that it's warm enough to want the windows open. Last week, the maintenance man (we'll call him Jake) calls me to ask how many I need. Duh. How many windows are there in this house you've been maintaining for years? I guess math is not his strong suit. Or, wait. You think he wanted an excuse to call me? He left five sticks after that call, supposedly because he didn't have enough wood (don't even start with the innuendos there), but promised he'd get the rest soon.
Fast forward to yesterday. As I'm leaving for work, I can hear the maintenance man (shall we call him Jake?) and the downstairs tenant talking on her porch that I have to walk by to leave. Great. I was hoping he could just check my entrance window that I can't open on his own. Oh noooo, no he cannot. He hears me coming and I can hear him beelining it to the door to end the conversation and catch me before my escape can happen. Damn, almost.
Him: "Hey, I was just coming up to check that window! You got 10 minutes?"
Me: "No. I'm going to work. Just go ahead and check it."
Him: "Well, I'm gonna be back. You work every night this week?"
Me: "Every night except Wednesday."
Him: "Oh! That's when I was coming back!" (How convenient)!
Me: "Okay. See ya."
Him: "Hey. How many sticks do you still need?"
Me: [Rolling my eyes] "Well, ya gave me five. I still need six."
Him: "Okay. Well, like three short ones and three long ones, right?"
Me: "Whatever you have is fine."
I make my exit, knowing he's watching me leave. The desperate look of him wanting to rekindle something that never lit disgusts me. UGH!
I don't really care about having to deal with him. It's really rather comical. He knows his place again, and it's not in my heart. He's the maintenance man we call Jake. My home is my own, and he just fixes things. Those five months of not seeing him gave me back my privacy. I'm able to laugh about the stupidity of trying to date the guy who fixes the stuff that goes wrong here. Lesson learned. I'm better on my own, and I don't have to feel embarrassed by something that happened (what seems like) ages ago.
The mermaid has a job interview tomorrow and she is happy and calm once again in her haven of sunshine.
My quote-unquote boyfriend is a constant source of disappointment. He doesn't read my blog, in spite of my giving him the link numerous times, so I can say whatever I want to about him. I can also tell the story about the dates I had in December that didn't work out at all when I was trying so hard to move on. Ugh! Said date has resurfaced again now that the weather is nice. He's the maintenance man where I live. Ugh! Why did I agree to go out with someone I'd have to deal with when it didn't work out?? Ugh! I'm stupid, that's why! But it's a funny story, so listen up and laugh with me!
The dates were "okay" but really only served to highlight the things I really missed about the quote-unquote boyfriend who I get along with so well (in spite of his shortcomings). Maintenance Man (let's call him Jake) is all about the "Me, My, Mine" in conversation. Everything is a contest to prove his is better, bigger, more important, and when it's not, it's self-effacing comments about how he doesn't measure up. (OMG! I have a hundred sentences ending in prepositions already. I'm no English teacher)! So, anyway, when the relationship is obviously not working for me (after a whopping three dates), he gets the hint and quits calling. I'm baffled, because I know he's interested, but also relieved, because I'm not. None of it matters because I'm too busy stressing over the immediate concerns of paying my bills, missing the quote-unquote boyfriend, and why I can't just say goodbye to a relationship that isn't living up to what I want.
Then the weather gets nice. There's lawn to mow. There's spring projects that require him to be here again. UGH! Now I'm being haunted by my poor choices--yet again! (I'm good at poor choices, despite the appearance of intelligence when you meet me). I digress. A few weeks ago, the downstairs tenant put in our request for some sticks to hold up the windows now that it's warm enough to want the windows open. Last week, the maintenance man (we'll call him Jake) calls me to ask how many I need. Duh. How many windows are there in this house you've been maintaining for years? I guess math is not his strong suit. Or, wait. You think he wanted an excuse to call me? He left five sticks after that call, supposedly because he didn't have enough wood (don't even start with the innuendos there), but promised he'd get the rest soon.
Fast forward to yesterday. As I'm leaving for work, I can hear the maintenance man (shall we call him Jake?) and the downstairs tenant talking on her porch that I have to walk by to leave. Great. I was hoping he could just check my entrance window that I can't open on his own. Oh noooo, no he cannot. He hears me coming and I can hear him beelining it to the door to end the conversation and catch me before my escape can happen. Damn, almost.
Him: "Hey, I was just coming up to check that window! You got 10 minutes?"
Me: "No. I'm going to work. Just go ahead and check it."
Him: "Well, I'm gonna be back. You work every night this week?"
Me: "Every night except Wednesday."
Him: "Oh! That's when I was coming back!" (How convenient)!
Me: "Okay. See ya."
Him: "Hey. How many sticks do you still need?"
Me: [Rolling my eyes] "Well, ya gave me five. I still need six."
Him: "Okay. Well, like three short ones and three long ones, right?"
Me: "Whatever you have is fine."
I make my exit, knowing he's watching me leave. The desperate look of him wanting to rekindle something that never lit disgusts me. UGH!
I don't really care about having to deal with him. It's really rather comical. He knows his place again, and it's not in my heart. He's the maintenance man we call Jake. My home is my own, and he just fixes things. Those five months of not seeing him gave me back my privacy. I'm able to laugh about the stupidity of trying to date the guy who fixes the stuff that goes wrong here. Lesson learned. I'm better on my own, and I don't have to feel embarrassed by something that happened (what seems like) ages ago.
The mermaid has a job interview tomorrow and she is happy and calm once again in her haven of sunshine.
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