Another lunch shift. Another Video Store Day. Five tables all day. Uncool. Way uncool.
Gripe of the day: If you were friends with someone, and you went to the restaurant where they work, and someone they work with waited on you, wouldn't you leave a good tip as long as the service was good? Of course you would. Unfortunately, not everyone thinks the way that you and I do. Two friends of one of the hostesses came in for lunch. They order a Coke, a lemonade, the Thai Chicken Pasta, and a Chicken Sandwich with American Cheese. The meal is out in eight minutes. I refill their drinks. I don't introduce any foreign substances into their food. I don't poke or prod their food unnecessarily. I do everything that I should do. And what does it earn me? A 21.80 bill, and they leave $24. Barely 10% for those of you keeping score at home. I loves me the Ground Round.
Again though, I must be thankful for the music. Today, I think it was the "Boogie Nights" and "Summer of Sam" soundtracks. Dig.
Thursday, 7/11
Remember that summer sales contest that I mentioned two weeks ago? It started on Monday. There are daily prizes for the person who sells the most items off of the summer menu. So should a table order a half-rack of ribs, the whiskey peppercorn sirloin tips, and the chicken fresco, then that would count as three items. Speaking of the chicken fresco, the stuff smells like a frat house bathroom--a delicate combination of urine and vomit. But I digress.
Well, guess who won the contest yesterday afternoon? AWWWW YEAH! You know it. ME! ME! ME! I am the summer sales master. The beauty of it is that I didn't even try. Lots of other people are doing all this suggestive selling, "Did you notice our new summer menu? The whiskey tips are delicious!" And other rubbish like that. I didn't even bother, but I still won. And what do I get for my services? Two movie passes, a $12 value.
I ended up staying on for the dinner shift since the other new guy was hungover, and I need the money. I recused myself though from the dinner shift contest in order to give the others a chance to shine in the spotlight and feel the rush and the glory. Apparently, word of my serving skillz are spreading. Another manager told me that he would start scheduling me for more dinner and weekend night shifts because I know how to bring it. Word.
Thursday, 7/18
Today is my day off. I am resting for tomorrow night's primetime extravaganza. My body and mind are well-maintained high performance vehicles of food service. But, I'll update you all on that haps at the GR this week.
Management is really pushing this summer menu. We are not supposed to suggest anything on the menu except for summer items. I have heard this every shift for the last week. Pre-meal has become increasingly humorous for me lately because of this. We have also been reminded of the 7 Steps to Customer Service and the five steps for creating a rapport with customers. Have you ever been to a restaurant and the server asks you if you have been there before? That's Step 1. We are told that Step 1 is not optional. I find Step 1 incredibly annoying when I am a customer. If the customer has been at the Ground Round before, we are supposed to welcome them back and point out the summer menu. I don't know how they could miss it since the hostesses still have the menus opened to it. If it is their first time to the GR, we welcome them, and then ask probing investigative questions. "How hungry are you?" "What kind of food are you in the mood for?" And then guide them through the menu to the most expensive items in order to increase the check total. Again, when I am a customer, and someone tries to pull this nonsense with me, I wish they would leave me alone. Go away. Far away. Step 4 of building a rapport is to place the napkin in their lap, wipe their mouth, and compliment their sense of style.
In addition to hammering all this home during pre-meal, management likes to quiz people on menu items or other silly things. "Barb, what does suggestive selling mean?" Barb says, "You suggest something and sell it to them." College was so easy compared to this daily grilling. And we're still supposed to be pusing the daquiris, but who really ever orders a daquiri with dinner? Though, I must say, they are mighty tasty. The final item from pre-meal has to do with water. Our little town here is having a water shortage, so all restaurants have to cut back water usage by 10%. So rather than run water over food to defrost it, cooks place it in an ice bath or down their pants. For my part, I stopped washing my hands at work. Management's idea is that when someone asks for water to drink, we say, "Would you like Brand X or Brand Y?" as a way to still increase the check total.
So one shift, I decide to amuse myself and give all this a try. I ask people if they have been to the GR before. I point out the summer menu. If they ask for water, I say, "Would you like X or Y?" The one time I tried this, it confused the person, so I never tried again. At first, suggesting the summer items seemed to be working. My first table of the day ordered entirely off of the summer menu. But I only sold two more items the rest of the shift. But that's okay, I have my two movie passes still. Other awards being offered as daily prizes are a free CD or DVD, or any item for free off of the GR menu. Shockingly, nobody has taken them up on one yet.
In addition to the daily prizes, there will be a final grand prize at the end of the summer for the person who has the highest percentage of all their sales coming from the summer menu. This person will not be me. I just don't care enough. I don't feel like going the extra mile for the people who pay me $2.38 an hour just so that they can look good for the corporate big shots. The server who is in first place right now is leading the way with 28%. The average is about 23%, and I'm a little below that around 21%. But that doesn't mean that everybody doesn't know who really has the serving skillz.
In addition to keeping a tally on all the servers, there is a regional competition among the different GR stores in the Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania area. The store that has the highest percentage of all its sales coming off the summer menu is considered to be the winner. What they win, I don't know. Bragging rights maybe. Out of the 12 Ground Rounds in the region, ours is ranked 10th at the moment. This is bringing some heat from the regional director. Those punks over at the Waldorf GR are in first place with 28% compared to our 21%. But, as far as total summer sales go, we've sold more in dollars off the summer menu than the Waldorf store has sold in total volume. This is what management tells us to make us feel better, as if anyone of the wait staff is truly hurt by this. If we get first place in the region, the hourly wage is still $2.38, so where is the motivation, I say. But, I'll keep my mouth shut rather than try to start any sort of wait staff uprising. For now.
Another item of note from the last few days is that I was yelled at by one of the managers. This other dude called up around 4:40 the other day, said that he was supposed to be there at 5:00, but he was walking, so he would be there a little late, probably around 5:20. I probably should have taken this bit of information to a manager, but that whole lack of interest in my job thing kicked in, so I didn't mention it to anyone. Also, I figured that he could get there before anyone noticing, and he wouldn't have to get scolded for being late. At 5:35, while making a salad for a customer, I hear the manager yell my name, and this exchange follows:
Manager: James! Did Joey call and tell you that he was going to be late?!
Me: Oh, yeah, he did.
Manager: Well, did you tell any of the managers this?!
Me: Uh, I thought I told Steve.
Manager: You THINK you told him?! I'm getting ready to fire the guy, and you don't say anything!
Me: ...
A few minutes later, he apologizes for yelling at me in front of the other servers, but I tell him that I deserved it, no big deal, I should have said something, blah blah blah. What he didn't realize is that I could not have cared less. I actually found the exchange somewhat amusing. We were slow at the time, the dude showed up a few minutes later, so I figured ho harm, no foul. And this manager is especially high-strung and could probably benefit from some prescription drugs. But that was the last time I'm answering the phone. Anyway, I hate answering the phone because we have to say, "Thankyou for calling the Frederick Ground Round. Come join us for our new summer menu. This is ______, how may I help you?" This is posted above the phone. Ridiculous. I've gotten over the fact that I'm serving other people, but it's all the other things like the 7 Steps to Service and the 5 Steps to Being Intrusive that I can't stand. And on top of all that, the corporate big shots came for a tour of the restaurant yesterday. So they had us cleaning everything twice, making sure the place looked nice and tidy. Again, I'm not sure where they get the idea that any of the servers really care about what the corporate execs think. All it amounts to is extra time spent on the clock making nothing but the hourly wage.
The highlight of the week so far was having the desserts sidework on Tuesday. This amounted to making sure we were stocked with enough brownies, liquid chocolate truffles, ice cream, cherries, hot fudge, whipped cream, and apple crisps. To prepare the apple crisps, a cook bakes the big pan of apple crisp, then the servers portions it out into crocks and side bowls. But the bonus is getting to eat the leftover bits and pieces. And yes, that is a rather sad statement when that's the best part of the day.
Weekend, 7/19, 7/20, 7/21
The summer sales contest pep talks are becoming increasingly ridiculous. There is a tally sheet with all the servers, each server's summer sales percentage (I jumped up to 23.5% by the end of Saturday night), and the restaurant sales percentage. Heading into the friday night dinner shift, we had slipped down into last place with a lowly 17%. This, management told us, was unacceptable. At the bottom of the sheet, these words were written, "Come on guys, you can do better than this! Are we going to settle for last?" My answer..."Yes. Yes, I will settle for last." I made the mistake of letting this attitude slip through a little bit. I was somewhat less than excited for the nightly contest. The promise of movie passes (still have the other two) or any item off the menu wasn't quite getting me in the mood. Upon seeing that I had sold a couple of items, the manager says, "Why didn't you tell me you sold those?" To which I honestly replied, "I'm not really keeping track tonight, so I didn't figure it really mattered." Sensing disapproval, I quickly add, "I mean, I'm trying to sell the stuff, I'm just not worried about winning." Still didn't quite do it. I was told that I'm a better salesperson than that. It was meant to be a compliment, I think.
So anyway, the total restaurant percentage jumped up to 21% by Sunday evening. We are still way behind, they tell us, and somehow it's supposed to be easier for us to catch up since we sell more total volume than the other stores. But, if percentage is what's being considered, then I just don't see what sort of mathematics they are using to come to this conclusion. Seems to me, the fewer total sales you have, the easier it is to raise your percentage. Though, I haven't really contemplated all of this to any great extent, so what do I know.
Another topic for pre-meal concerns getting checked out at the end of the night. Before we can cash-out (turn in the money we owe the restaurant) and leave, we have to do our sidework, clean our section, and get signed off by one of the servers who closes up the place. Apparently, people have been getting signed out by people other than those designated, and this is causing some sort of problem. Therefore, a 15 minute discussion was necessitated. The sum of it all is that we were told by the manager, "You can play by my rules, or come into the office and give me notice if you don't like those rules." He then re-stated this a few times, always emphasizing that the rules are his, and the rules must be obeyed.
In other news, I upgraded from ordinary, boring first-degree burns to the more exciting second-degree burns. I consider it customary to leave with redness on my hands and arm from carrying plates which are quite hot due to sitting under the heatlamps for too long. This is no big deal. The redness goes away, and the sensation in my fingertips returns soon enough. Saturday night though, I mistook an extremely hot plate for just simply a hot plate. I made this realization half way to the table when it was too late to do anything about it except concentrate on not dropping all plates because of the sheer pain of it all. I knew I was in trouble when the burning feeling changed to a tingling sensation. And I really knew that things weren't cool when a blister started to appear on my hand. The blister is graphically documented on the Pictures Page. In the words of the doctor who diagnosed my paritonsular abscess December of '94, "That needs to be drained." Drained once that night and again in the morning. This, however, is not documented. Don't worry though, I am healing well and managed to work through my Sunday night shift.
Speaking of, my shift was cut short because I was approaching the 40 hour weekly limit. And we all know that once that limit is surpassed, all hell breaks loose. So I was second cut from the floor and was told to quickly do my sidework and roll my silverware so that I did not breech that 40th hour. But, as usual, I moved a little slow and clocked out having worked 40 hours and 15 minutes this week. So, for 15 minutes, I was hauling in the overtime wage of $3.57 an hour, tacking another 89 cents onto my paycheck. But, I will not be surprised if those 15 minutes somehow don't make it onto my paycheck. If they don't, then I'll just take my pay in a little ice cream sundae on the side. Extra sauce.
Before my shift on Tuesday, a bunch of us have to go to a three hour alcohol awareness class. The class is from 1:30-4:30, yet my shift starts at 4:00. I sense that I will still be blamed for being late. I also sense that they are not planning on paying us for those three hours. I'll let you know what happens there. But here is how I imagine the exchange going:
Me: We're being paid for these three hours, right?
Them: No, you're not.
Me: But this is required for us to keep our jobs, right?
Them: Yeah. So?
Me: So we should get paid then.
Them: If you don't like it, then you don't have to work here.
Me: You have a point.
And then, I'll just have to take out my pay in other ways. For example, I could "accidentally" ring in a menu item, then not figure out my mistake until after it has been prepared. And rather than let it go to waste, eat said menu item myself. Or, I will just clock out 15 minutes late every day for the next three weeks. No matter what, I'll get paid one way or another.
Last item. Hygiene. Since I shaved late Friday afternoon for the dinner shift, I was okay to get by without shaving for Saturday's lunch shift. Sunday though, I clearly needed to shave. But, I was feeling a little bit lazy and less than enthusiastic about the upcoming dinner shift. So, rather than shave all the way, I shave my neck and trim up my cheeks. That way, if anyone said anything to me about my appearance, I could just say that I was growing a beard. And I was right on target. The manager for the night says to me, "James, are you growing a beard?" So I say yes, and I point out that I have shaven my neck. "That's fine then," he says, "as long as you're growing it and it doesn't disappear then reappear then disappear." But you see, the thing is that I might just decide tomorrow morning, or the day after that, or whenever I feel like having a clean shave, that I don't want to grow a beard. Anyway, my stubble can't look any worse than several of the scruffy goatees or Abe Lincoln chinstrap beards that other guys have going on there.
So that'll do it for now.
Tuesday and Wednesday, 7/23, 7/24
Tuesday, a bunch of us were required to go to the previously mentioned alcohol and tobacco awareness class being put on at the county Department of Health. The class ran for three hours but probably could have been condensed into about one. But, the state trooper speaking most of the time didn't quite see it that way. The class started out with a bit about tobacco laws and then moved on to a bit about underage tobacco use and its harmful effects. Considering that we don't have a cigarette vending machine in the GR, this entire piece was irrelevant for our jobs. Also, it wasn't really anything that I didn't learn in 9th grade health class or from watching anti-smoking commercials on the television.
Next up was the county liquor-license inspector/enforcer or whatever it is that the guy does. His speech mainly dealt with fake IDs, how to spot a fake, and what to do if someone is trying to present you a fake ID. Somewhat more relevant, and slightly humorous because he passed around fakes that had been confiscated in town over the last few months. Some were incredibly bad. Hard to believe someone actually thought it would work. Mercifully, we were granted a short break at this point. We were told that there is no smoking on the grounds, so please don't do it. A few people from the GR piled into a car and drove off the parking lot in order to have a smoke. Me, well, I just ate a bunch of cheese, crackers, and cookies that were provided for refreshment. The cheese was tasty but the cookies were a little dry.
After break, we were once again asked not to smoke on the premises since someone had just started a little fire in the mulch with a cigarette butt. I had a hard time containing my laughter.
Next up was the state trooper who would be discussing the compliance checks that are routinely conducted. And for some reason, he felt that a power-point presentation with all of the underage drinking laws and all laws regarding sales to minors, along with all of the exemptions and amendments, was necessary. Throughout this presentation, anecdotes about "Junior" were told. "Let's say Junior is out drinking and blah blah blah....So Junior decides to try to buy some blah blah blah....Junior asks someone to blah blah blah." I make a mental note to myself never to use "Junior" in any example.
Finally, at 4:30, we are given our certificates (see the Pictures page), and we are set free back into the world, now ready to identify fake identification and able to quote to anyone the exact laws and statutes regarding underage drinking and possession of false ID. I am elated. And off to the GR I go. I asked one person if we were getting paid for the time spent at the class, and I was told that we would be. Someone else though said that the people who went to the class a few months back were also told they would be paid but never were. I'll keep an eye on this when I pick up my paycheck next Friday.
Nothing much of interest from the Tuesday night shift or from the Wednesday afternoon shift.
The End of July
It's amazing...the Ground Round has become the most fulfilling experience of my life. It's awesome. I never knew just how much fun that...okay, i'm kidding. It has been rather slow lately, and that translates into not as much money, and that leads to me becoming a (more) disgruntled worker. But, that's okay. I've had a few video store days in the last week, walked out one day with $10 in my pocket. I was visibly ticked off by this, prompting the general manager to ask if I was alright. I said, no, not really, and explained why I was a little less than happy using language a little less than appropriate for this posting. He was cool about it, offered to see if anyone else wanted to leave so that I could stay. So then I felt bad about my little tantrum and said that I had chores to do at home anyway, blah blah, make more money tomorrow, blah blah, Ground Round rules!
I'm excited because the summer sales contest is coming to an end. I will no longer be made to feel guilty for not doing more work than is necessary to try and sell the whiskey peppercorn sirloin tips, the buffalo potato skins (which really aren't as nasty as they sound), or the Italian feast. I don't think that we will end up "kicking Hagerstown's ass" in the contest as was hoped for. Instead, we might just TP their restaurant.
So when things are slow at the Ground Round, the servers tend to gravitate toward the lobby area, waiting for customers to come in. This creates a situation where there are 5-8 employees up front in a fairly small lobby area greeting two customers coming in to the restaurant. A little creepy, if you ask me. And when no customers are around, there is endless conversation about a myriad of ridiculous subjects and a barrage of storytelling. Two servers in particular have a fear of silence and thus always have something to say. One is always telling lies. Everyone is aware that he is lying, but he is unaware that we know. How this happens, I don't quite understand. The other server has a million stories to tell about working as a travelling book salesperson. I'm sure this was one of those scams where teenagers are told they can have a chance to see the country while making lots of money, but what really ends up happening is that they make no money, work 16 hours a day, and end up being so miserable that a parent has to drive cross-country to pick them up and drive them home. This happens. But it must not have happened to her because it sure sounds like the adventure of a lifetime. What is truly amusing is the "And one time, at bandcamp" tone of the stories.
For these reasons, I shy away from the lobby. I hide actually. In a corner. By myself. Behind the highchairs.
Another interesting thing about dialogue at the GR has to do with the names people call each other. "Honey," "Sweety," "Babe," and "Darling" are commonly used to address others. I have never understood this phenomenon. "Hey, Honey, could you get me a ramekin of bleu cheese? Thanks, Darling." Or, "Could you follow me with this food, Sweety? Thanks, Honey." For the gentlemen, "Brother" is used frequently. "Hey, Brother, could you grab a salad bag for me?" Beats me. I don't get it any more than you do. But, I think I might start joining in with my own nicknames. For example, I might start calling others "Cupcake," "Puddinhead," "Slick," and "Clark."
I work tonight and since it is Friday, I also get my paycheck. I have a feeling that the three hours lost at the alcohol awareness class will not find their way onto the check. I'll let you know tomorrow.
First week of August
So those three hours spent at the alcohol class? Think they made it on the paycheck? Of course not. Nowhere to be found. Most people didn't even notice, but I sure did. I almost brought it up at pre-meal since the GM was talking about following proper procedures, the 7 steps of customer service, upselling, blah blah, all to try and make the point that we're there to make money. I wanted to say, "Speaking of making money, when will we get paid for those three hours?" But, I didn't say anything at the time. So instead, I waited until the end of the night when I was cashing out, and I asked another manager about it. My mistake though was asking the wrong manager, someone who I should have known would be less than sympathetic to my complaints. So I say, "So are we going to get paid for those three hours spent at that training class?" The manager's response was, "What, do you want me to give you $2.38?" And then went on with some mumbo-jumbo about more taxes being taken out, blah blah blah. Instead of arguing and saying, "No, what I want you to do is to pay me $15.45, fool" I just relented and went on home. I will bring it up this coming Friday though at pre-meal because I will be paid, and the nonsense about taxes is just that, nonsense. Even if more taxes are taken out of the paycheck, I can comprehend the notion of delayed gratification, and I will get my money next April with my tax return. Oh yes, they will pay me. It's not so much about the money anymore than it is about the principle.
The summer sales contest came to an end on Sunday. And guess who won the last night of the contest? That's right, friends, it was me. I proved once again that I am the summer sales master. Not that I tried, because I didn't. So this time I won a CD or DVD of my choosing, a value of up to $20. Yay. As for the entire summer, my sales percentage was right around the restaurant average, about 22%. And I think that the restaurant finished somewhere around 7th or 8th in the region. But I'm just happy because I don't have to be harassed for not selling enough items anymore, and I can feel free to discourage customers from ordering the Chicken Fresco and its delicate combination of the tastes of vomit and dirty gym clothes. Nasty, folks.
Other highlights include a crackdown on employee smoking. The GM was complaining that servers had been smoking in the back while food was up and while customers were waiting for service. This, he said, was unacceptable. As a consequence, servers are not allowed to smoke between the hours of 6 and 9 at night and 12 and 2 in the afternoon. At all other times, the server must ask for permission to smoke, and permission will only be granted if all sidework is done, no food is up, and all tables are taken care of. Additionally, only one person at a time can smoke. And anyone caught smoking without asking for permission will be "written up." I don't know what this entails other than someone making note of misbehavior, but I didn't get the feeling that anyone was too threatened. "I didn't see the words 'Day Care' after 'Ground Round' out front, so I don't think we should have to treat you all like little kids," said the GM. But that is precisely what they do on a consistent basis. And lastly, big ear-rings have to go. Only one stud is allowed in each ear. Not a problem for me, really. Neither is all the smoking hubbub. But I counted, and 11 of the 13 servers present at that pre-meal are smokers, giving further support for the correlation between smoking and socio-economic status.
One other point that I found particularly humorous from the big pre-meal lecture was that we were encouraged by management to tell our friends to come in during happy hour for the drink specials. First off, I don't really have any friends in Frederick. But lets say that I did. I doubt that I would tell them to come drink at a place where I myself am not allowed to drink. But again, the rules of logic only carry so far in the restaurant industry.
And the time is fast-approaching where I will have to decide whether to continue working at the GR once the fall semester begins. The extra cash would be nice, but I'll have to decide whether or not it will be worth it. We'll see.
Can't get enough? Check out the Final Chapter
