I'll Take a Twist with That

The new job is going well. Business is picking up as the heartbeat of the city begins to beat steadily to the drum of the UW marching band back in town. I'm not used to the upside down "busy time" that is the norm here in a college town, and starts as the weather cools off but cools off when the mercury goes up. Nope, I'm used to the resort swell in the summer and the staples that get us through the rest of the year. While it's refreshing to be making better money as the summer ends, it's downright annoying dealing with some of the people who have such power over how my evening plays out. I'm talking about the co-worker pool. Some of my first impressions were right on, but a few of them have done a loopty loop of the 180 degree variety.

For starters, remember The Skank? Guess what? She likes me. She really, really likes me. I'm guessing she's one of those Banshee types that feels the need to puff up her feathers so the new person understands that this is her territory, and you can't have any. What I've found in most cases at the place on the avenue is that everyone pretty much likes me. I have heard from almost every single person there, "You are a good worker." The veterans, the servers I work with in the back dining room, the boss, the new girls. "You are a good worker." I don't fill the ice and stay until all of the cleaning is done to make friends though. This is how I approach my job. If everyone just did his job, the whole process would be smooth as old scotch. As the new girl, I do bite my tongue to avoid the lecture about how they could all be doing their work like I do mine and we'd all benefit. Nope. I'm responsible for me and how I perform. I'm not changing the world serving food, but at least I can sleep well at night knowing I did my work to the best of my ability. I guess that impressed "The Skank" (who we shouldn't call that anymore)! The funniest part of the becoming friends with her is that we have a lot of common threads that tie us to one another. Who knew? Maybe the most hysterical part of our similarities is the constant confusion among our tables. Her tables stop me when I am going by to request drinks or more rolls. "I'm not your waitress," I said the first few times it happened. It happened again on Friday night. I knew exactly who their waitress was this time, and assured the gentleman that I would get "Pam" (her new 'not real' name).

That's funny stuff if you ask me. I was so prepared to just hate her and avoid her. She actually seemed to seek me out as the weeks passed. This is one gal I'm glad I was wrong about. It's a lot easier working with people you actually enjoy talking to during the side work portion of your evening.

And then there's the bane of my existence at the place on the avenue. Picture Norm's (from Cheers) head, Chris Farley's body, and Dan Dierdorf's personality all rolled up into one fat, stupid, annoying man. Think of the laziest person you ever worked with who grated on your last nerve because they were so inept at doing what needed to be done. That guy who just chats with people with no regard to a timely completion of the task at hand. This is the man from whom I have to wait impatiently for drinks, the return of my change on the check, or the credit card receipt. At the end of the night, when I'm weary and want to clear my paperwork (something that would take me three minutes if I could do it myself), and get out the door for the commute home I spend 20 minutes begging him to run a report, give me my credit card slips, pay me out on my tips.

Last night, HE messed up one of my tickets but couldn't even figure out that he had reopened it and rung it up wrong. He made like it was my fault because he couldn't understand that separate tickets at the same table might actually be almost exact to one another. That added 10 minutes to my already 20 minute checkout time.

Tonight, he was busy chatting it up about fantasy football with a bud at the bar and couldn't get his fat ass working on drinks or the accumulating checks he needed to ring up. When I got impatient with him, he lashed out at me telling me he could only do one thing at a time. (Too bad he couldn't put selling drinks at the top of that list while he was punched in, huh?) When I pointed out that I'd been waiting 10 minutes for two glasses of wine, he said, "Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only waitress here." Not being one to back down, I pointed out that he seemed to have plenty of time to talk fantasy football while I waited.

It wasn't pretty. Still, I heard him telling MY joke that I told the boss to his customers as I was heading out tonight.

The sunny, perky blond who bartends is a girl I used to have on my banquet team when I supervised at a country club. She cried when I left, telling me I was the best boss she ever had. She pulled me aside after the spat and told me if I needed something and Beast Boy (that's a good name for him, and one I won't have to change) was giving me problems to just come down to her end for it. HA! She guards me like a labrador. Smile.

If you take away the headbutting issues as a funny tale to tell, there's really a simple explanation. Oddly, it parallels the Brett Favre/Ted Thompson debaucle. You see, the boss likes me a lot. This Beast Boy knows this because the boss is pretty vocal about employees he thinks are great. Mr. Inept must feel threatened by my efficiency. I know one of the things the big boss noticed about me is that I am speedy about picking up my drinks. Lazy Ass can't keep up with my pace because he is too busy being, well, lazy. This is a real threat to that male ego crap that goes on. Much like Ted Thompson, Beast Boy can't stand that there is a star in his midst who is taking away any of his [perceived] glory. He can kiss my ass because my expectations aren't going down anytime soon. I'll be the one running backwards up the hill while he huffs and puffs, telling him that he can make it. You can do it, Beast Boy. Mix up that martini. I've got the olive.

He's so lame. He actually comes through the open end of the bar with food for his customers, yelling at those of us standing there waiting for drinks, etc, "MOVE!" Nice tact there, pal. There's not a couth bone in his body. The man couldn't spell the word polite, much less exercise its meaning. He costs that place so much in lost revenue, I don't know why the boss wants him to stay so badly. Between the lag time in getting drinks out, and the extra time we are punched in waiting for him to wield his power over us, it's a ridiculous amount of monetary loss. Perhaps in time, me and the Favre-lovin' boss will have a conversation about beasts and budgets.

Meanwhile, things are good. It's the natural evolution to understand and adapt to your surroundings. I got a call from a resume I flung out about six months ago. I went in to talk to the lady, and even did a 3-hour orientation last week. She went on vacation after that. I regret to be informing her, upon her return, that I was being stupid about taking a part-time job that had no guarantee of being better, for a job that is becoming pretty darn reliable. And reliable is something that has been sorely amiss in my life here in the last year. I'm staying put to make sure the Beast doesn't rest on his laurels. Besides, my boss said we can wear #4 Jets jerseys on game day if we want to. Why would I leave an idyllic job like that?