The long running joke. It's no secret that 9 times out of 10 I am the younger by many years. I strayed away from my pattern this one time in a very long time and look what happened. An old guy never would have beat me up.
(I'm so glad that I still have a wicked sense of humor.)
Reading through a copy of Smashed at Barnes and Noble reminded me of the origins of that frequently asked question. The author was a peer of mine at Syracuse University, specifically in the English/creative writing program. Much of her New York Times best-selling, drunken memoir concentrates on her time at SU. We had many of the same classes and writing instructors. It made me think back to my beginnings there. A large part of which was my Living Writers class freshman year and accompanying crush on my poetry teacher. My close friends on my Boland 3 floor remember me coming home Wednesday nights after class talking incessantly about Him- his "uncool" poetic style, literary good looks, and the glimpses into his own writing that I gobbled up. I clearly remember with a smile, my initial amazement when he first asked me out and excitement when we started dating. When reminiscing about our first SU semester recently, Melissa reminded me that he had taken me to see a very disturbing indie film at a small, local theatre. My first time at his apartment we watched a French film. I remember there was a heavy ceramic bowl with cereal remnants on his wooden coffee table. It was odd to see breakfast debris in my teacher's living space. Lots of cigarettes, volumes of obscure poetry, literature and music. Definitely the apartment of the serious, semi "tortured" poet that I first saw in class. The entire experience was exciting. We started seeing each other regularly at the end of my first semester when I was officially out of his class. Except that my unstable, loudmouth roommate had his class the next semester. He was nervous about calling the room we shared so would email me. I would have to run down to the computer clusters in the basement and then meet him outside my dorm. There were other members of the English Department faculty that resided in his building. One time while walking from his car in the parking lot we almost ran into a very well known fiction writer/professor who lived in the building. The Poet quickly jumped ahead of me and I hid around a corner, wondering to myself what other professors lived in this worn building.
I was teased pretty regularly about my affinity for the old guys. It's really funny thinking back to that now. My first poet- the oldest I had ever dated at the time was not terribly old in the grand scheme of subsequent age gaps I have engendered- but reflecting on the fact that I was 18 at the time it still upholds my patterned theory.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Inauguration Eve 2005: The Night the Wheels Came Off
One of the worst nights that restaurant had ever seen was during the Presidential inauguration of January 2005. The entire town had seen an influx of reservations in the days leading up to the big ceremony and our place in particular, because of its proximity to hotels and the fact that it was a Morton's, was just inundated with reservations like never before. Mind you our 2nd GM had just left a few months earlier to go open another Morton's in Maryland. We were operating with a brand new AM, an interim GM (who had been my corporate trainer), and me - the 3 month old captain who longed for the days when I was strictly a server. To put it bluntly we got hammered. We had so many reservations for the night before the inauguration I can't recall the number, but it crushed us. Everywhere I went things were going downhill- fast. We even had the GM from Reston (GM of the year) who was clearing plates everytime I passed him and being harassed by our very diligent but territorial and touched in the head dish room czar, Gerald. I ended up in the boardroom most of the night bailing out the water as fast as I could from a sinking ship. Loren had not been happy that he was in there with "rookies" Ashley and Kou so he just stopped working with them. So I picked up the weight. I was cocktailing, clearing everything I could and all the time pissed off that the 3rd assigned server was not in the room. This was a dinner party hosted by the Chairman of the House Appropriations Committee so you can imagine who was in the room.
After the party had finished and was filing out at the coat check all hell broke loose. As it turned out our overly stressed hostess has mixed up two of the coat check numbers and given another guest a coat that belonged to a man from the Congressional party. Needless to say it was not pretty. It was brutally cold outside and as soon as the other members of the party realized what happened they all started talking very loudly exclaiming "He cannot attend the inauguration in the morning without a coat!!" What kind of operation are you running here?? What is he supposed to do, freeze to death?!" Mind you this was all happening at the front of a very busy restaurant. People were attempting to come in and be seated but the commotion was too great. The hostess felt so bad, she was apologizing profusely but our top in command that night had laid into her and she was beside herself. To make matters worse, in the midst of this crisis, others from the party were waiting for their valeted cars. As it turns out a car came up missing. An Audi belonging to someone from the same party "could not be located." It was absolute madness. The car belonged to the coatless guy who happened to have a wife with him that was 8 months pregnant. It was so ugly that I just stood there for a moment in disbelief, listening to the chaos and watching our acting GM try and compose herself as calls were being placed to our regional manager. He ended up calling every 5 minutes the rest of the night. I answered a few times and he sounded as icy and pissed as I had ever heard him. The car was eventually found- a valet had fallen asleep and the keys had fallen somewhere. The coatless man was compensated with an interim coat, a gift basket, and money. Later on that night the man who had mistakenly left with said coat called and the switch was arranged for very early the next morning. But the reverberations from that night were intense. I was there until 3 AM, and shit was still hitting the fan between the valet company, the regional, and writeups for several of the boardroom servers. That place just split in two that night and was not the same after. I am just grateful that I was there to witness it.
After the party had finished and was filing out at the coat check all hell broke loose. As it turned out our overly stressed hostess has mixed up two of the coat check numbers and given another guest a coat that belonged to a man from the Congressional party. Needless to say it was not pretty. It was brutally cold outside and as soon as the other members of the party realized what happened they all started talking very loudly exclaiming "He cannot attend the inauguration in the morning without a coat!!" What kind of operation are you running here?? What is he supposed to do, freeze to death?!" Mind you this was all happening at the front of a very busy restaurant. People were attempting to come in and be seated but the commotion was too great. The hostess felt so bad, she was apologizing profusely but our top in command that night had laid into her and she was beside herself. To make matters worse, in the midst of this crisis, others from the party were waiting for their valeted cars. As it turns out a car came up missing. An Audi belonging to someone from the same party "could not be located." It was absolute madness. The car belonged to the coatless guy who happened to have a wife with him that was 8 months pregnant. It was so ugly that I just stood there for a moment in disbelief, listening to the chaos and watching our acting GM try and compose herself as calls were being placed to our regional manager. He ended up calling every 5 minutes the rest of the night. I answered a few times and he sounded as icy and pissed as I had ever heard him. The car was eventually found- a valet had fallen asleep and the keys had fallen somewhere. The coatless man was compensated with an interim coat, a gift basket, and money. Later on that night the man who had mistakenly left with said coat called and the switch was arranged for very early the next morning. But the reverberations from that night were intense. I was there until 3 AM, and shit was still hitting the fan between the valet company, the regional, and writeups for several of the boardroom servers. That place just split in two that night and was not the same after. I am just grateful that I was there to witness it.
"You're Fired! Please join us for Dinner..."
The restaurant had seen a significant increase in debauchery and a general lack of order since the new GM took over. It was just icing on the cake when we were all siting down to employee meal one evening and were greeted with the following statement from said GM, " Maggie (our hostess) is no longer with us (she had been fired 20 minutes earlier) but she will be joining us for dinner this evening." Nice. While the reasoning for her termination was never "officially" announced, she had been out of control for awhile; she had made out with a VIP in a booth and the coat room, demanded that our bartender serve her a cocktail while on shift one night after a guest offered to buy her a drink, shown up late to shifts, and generally speaking been much too friendly to the guests who were constantly hitting on her. It was pretty much understood among all of us that the final straw was the culmination of all of these missteps after she was finally caught drinking on the job. She had gotten canned as soon as she came in to work that evening and parlayed it into her final hurrah. She invited 6 of her friends (including her current boyfriend who was a regular) to share in her misfortune by getting trashed at her former place of business. Very nice. I was her lucky server.
Not surprisingly she got very drunk very fast. She got angry at her boyfriend and at one point loudly whispered in my ear for me to "run up the check" and to start adding lots of after dinner drinks and other pricey items that were not ordered, to get back at him for something. I felt bad for the guy. He heard her and just looked at me and smiled. He seemed like a sweet guy that frankly got taken for a ride. She ended up getting so drunk that she passed out at the table. Her hair was in the the bowl of sabayon I had been plating with the souffles that no one was eating. I had another table, an elderly couple sitting at a booth with a prime view of Maggie's disastrous table. They kept asking me if she was alright (and were particularly concerned when she planted her face on the table), and wondered how I knew her. (She kept screaming my name and telling me she loved me across the restaurant- classy huh?). Before she passed out she tried to kiss me, and pinched two other servers passing by (male and female). Our general manger finally had to physically pick her up and walk her to the front of the restaurant. It's par for the course that you have intoxicated guests who occasionally cross the line and make a scene. It's just exceptionally classy when it's a freshly fired employee, especially one who a large number of restaurant guests know. I guess that's what happens when you fire an employee for bad behavior stemming from being intoxicated on the job, then invite them to dinner and provide them with discounted alcohol.
Not surprisingly she got very drunk very fast. She got angry at her boyfriend and at one point loudly whispered in my ear for me to "run up the check" and to start adding lots of after dinner drinks and other pricey items that were not ordered, to get back at him for something. I felt bad for the guy. He heard her and just looked at me and smiled. He seemed like a sweet guy that frankly got taken for a ride. She ended up getting so drunk that she passed out at the table. Her hair was in the the bowl of sabayon I had been plating with the souffles that no one was eating. I had another table, an elderly couple sitting at a booth with a prime view of Maggie's disastrous table. They kept asking me if she was alright (and were particularly concerned when she planted her face on the table), and wondered how I knew her. (She kept screaming my name and telling me she loved me across the restaurant- classy huh?). Before she passed out she tried to kiss me, and pinched two other servers passing by (male and female). Our general manger finally had to physically pick her up and walk her to the front of the restaurant. It's par for the course that you have intoxicated guests who occasionally cross the line and make a scene. It's just exceptionally classy when it's a freshly fired employee, especially one who a large number of restaurant guests know. I guess that's what happens when you fire an employee for bad behavior stemming from being intoxicated on the job, then invite them to dinner and provide them with discounted alcohol.
Withdrawal
If i don't write I will not be able to see the sun.
Obnoxiousness, self importance, and general BS and hurt drive my inspiration. Guess it's a good thing that I am re-entering restaurant life. Should get some more material. And this time I won't be so emotionally attached and enmeshed with the people...
Leaving Morton's the first time was weird. I had been there since I first stepped foot in DC. What made it a lot easier to leave was the fact that the "fun" had pretty much died there. After being beaten into submission with folks like Russ who supplanted Jim's return, starting as captain working primarily with Tony and his overactive mouth as soon as Ned and Jim left, while most of the good servers had left- it was just drudgery. Having nights free was good but awkward at first. I felt okay only when I was busy with multiple responsibilities and interests on my plate, and knowing that I was progressing in my work. It actually seemed like a pretty depressing scene down there. It seemed rather dismal the first time I walked by (since my first job out of there was just up the street). Not busy, same old people/usual suspects doing the usual things, less than stellar pool of servers, inconsistent business, same old, "no scandals" as Doug said. Guess I took them all with me.
It was nice to be out in the "world," as everyone had been saying, but strange. These feelings of discomfort quickly dissipated after I moved from my Navy contracting job to the speech writing position at DHS. More time had passed and also no time to think about such things when you are working 14 and 15 hour days writing Congressional testimony, and going to meetings at the White House. Ironically it was all a result of Morton's... Vicious cycle.
Obnoxiousness, self importance, and general BS and hurt drive my inspiration. Guess it's a good thing that I am re-entering restaurant life. Should get some more material. And this time I won't be so emotionally attached and enmeshed with the people...
Leaving Morton's the first time was weird. I had been there since I first stepped foot in DC. What made it a lot easier to leave was the fact that the "fun" had pretty much died there. After being beaten into submission with folks like Russ who supplanted Jim's return, starting as captain working primarily with Tony and his overactive mouth as soon as Ned and Jim left, while most of the good servers had left- it was just drudgery. Having nights free was good but awkward at first. I felt okay only when I was busy with multiple responsibilities and interests on my plate, and knowing that I was progressing in my work. It actually seemed like a pretty depressing scene down there. It seemed rather dismal the first time I walked by (since my first job out of there was just up the street). Not busy, same old people/usual suspects doing the usual things, less than stellar pool of servers, inconsistent business, same old, "no scandals" as Doug said. Guess I took them all with me.
It was nice to be out in the "world," as everyone had been saying, but strange. These feelings of discomfort quickly dissipated after I moved from my Navy contracting job to the speech writing position at DHS. More time had passed and also no time to think about such things when you are working 14 and 15 hour days writing Congressional testimony, and going to meetings at the White House. Ironically it was all a result of Morton's... Vicious cycle.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Refreshing
I really appreciate people who don't inflate their own importance, only talk about themselves, and those who have a clue about the world outside themselves. Big pluses to folks who can appreciate a well written speech, cup of coffee, can actually defend their views, and aren't too easily persuaded in thought or lured by others.
It’s hard to know what is forgivable, what is meant to be and what is just plain carelessness.
To decipher between being careful/smart/learning from the past and being willing to take a chance and put your faith in another because they have asked you to is bold but not always possible.
There is NOTHING that compares to having unlimited options and freedom just waiting for you to scoop them up. I crave those feelings of being unconstrained, able to just pick up and go/do/see whatever I feel like at the moment. Taking long road trips with the windows down and great, loud music is the best. I live for freedom. Now I need to work for it.
It’s hard to know what is forgivable, what is meant to be and what is just plain carelessness.
To decipher between being careful/smart/learning from the past and being willing to take a chance and put your faith in another because they have asked you to is bold but not always possible.
There is NOTHING that compares to having unlimited options and freedom just waiting for you to scoop them up. I crave those feelings of being unconstrained, able to just pick up and go/do/see whatever I feel like at the moment. Taking long road trips with the windows down and great, loud music is the best. I live for freedom. Now I need to work for it.
From Server to Political Appointee
The email that started it all from December 21, 2005:
Dana:
I hope you are still at this address. Do you have a job beyond Morton's yet? I am coming to DC and need a great speech writer??? Interested
My response:
George:
Good to hear from you. I left Morton's several months back and am currently working for a government contractor. However I certainly remember our various conversations regarding speechwriting and am more than interested in finding out the details of the opportunity you mentioned.
I am definitely very curious to discuss with you. When/where would work best for you?
Dana
What follows changed my life forever:
Dana:
I was recently nominated by the President to be the Under Secretary at the Department of Homeland Security and was confirmed last week by the Senate. I am putting together a front office staff and need a jack of all trades to help with everything from follow-up, to project management, to speechwriting and someone with impeccable customer services skills. It would be a "political appointment" requiring background review and White House vetting and ultimately a security clearance. If you are interested in talking to me about it please page me at XXXXXXXXXX and leave me a message with a phone number and best time to call. I am anxious to check out your interest and move forward. This is the last position I need to fill.
George
What followed was a blur of disbelief and elation. Oh yes, waiting on the Director of Homeland Security for the State of VA over the course of 2 years resulted in a political appointeeship in the Bush administration. He liked my writing and knew that I was passionate about pursuing speechwriting. He also told me later that he also watched me very carefully at Morton's.
The night before my interview with the White House liasion he ticked off a list of traits he observed while dining at Morton's and watching me wait on him and others. He wanted me to keep them in mind during my interview. He was trying to deflate my nerves. After all, I was being vetting by the White House. I was competing with throngs of other qualified candidates who had political connections to the President and to others at DHS. But I had George's utmost confidence.
He prided himself on his superb judgement in people. He said that he selected me because of my attention to detail, the fact that, I "wasn't a wallflower," my conversation/political skills and knowledge, and apparent grace under fire. When he mentioned my cool head in very busy situations that he had observed in the restaurant I couldn't help thinking, "Thank God he wasn't ever anywhere near the service bar or the kitchen!"
Dana:
I hope you are still at this address. Do you have a job beyond Morton's yet? I am coming to DC and need a great speech writer??? Interested
My response:
George:
Good to hear from you. I left Morton's several months back and am currently working for a government contractor. However I certainly remember our various conversations regarding speechwriting and am more than interested in finding out the details of the opportunity you mentioned.
I am definitely very curious to discuss with you. When/where would work best for you?
Dana
What follows changed my life forever:
Dana:
I was recently nominated by the President to be the Under Secretary at the Department of Homeland Security and was confirmed last week by the Senate. I am putting together a front office staff and need a jack of all trades to help with everything from follow-up, to project management, to speechwriting and someone with impeccable customer services skills. It would be a "political appointment" requiring background review and White House vetting and ultimately a security clearance. If you are interested in talking to me about it please page me at XXXXXXXXXX and leave me a message with a phone number and best time to call. I am anxious to check out your interest and move forward. This is the last position I need to fill.
George
What followed was a blur of disbelief and elation. Oh yes, waiting on the Director of Homeland Security for the State of VA over the course of 2 years resulted in a political appointeeship in the Bush administration. He liked my writing and knew that I was passionate about pursuing speechwriting. He also told me later that he also watched me very carefully at Morton's.
The night before my interview with the White House liasion he ticked off a list of traits he observed while dining at Morton's and watching me wait on him and others. He wanted me to keep them in mind during my interview. He was trying to deflate my nerves. After all, I was being vetting by the White House. I was competing with throngs of other qualified candidates who had political connections to the President and to others at DHS. But I had George's utmost confidence.
He prided himself on his superb judgement in people. He said that he selected me because of my attention to detail, the fact that, I "wasn't a wallflower," my conversation/political skills and knowledge, and apparent grace under fire. When he mentioned my cool head in very busy situations that he had observed in the restaurant I couldn't help thinking, "Thank God he wasn't ever anywhere near the service bar or the kitchen!"
Side order of Class
I have been looking through some of my restaurant writing from the past few years.
How many times did I experience this lovely exchange...
Guest: "I'll have a salad."
Me: "Sir, which salad would you like (pointing to the extensive salad selection)?"
After awhile I became skilled in anticipating how the rest of this conversation would go. Usually something like this:
(Ignoring the salad selection offered) "I just want a regular garden salad."
"Sir these are the salads we offer." (pointing to the salad section of the menu)
"Don't you just have a regular garden salad?"
Emphasis on the regular as if the salads offered by this conservative, corporate steakhouse behemoth are marginal, trendy, or otherwise "exotic."
Torn between an oath to exceed the guests' expectations and the strict guidelines of the infamous "spec," the outcome of this exchange was the result of a delicate balance of several factors, one being the level of agitation evident from the guests's tone. After the salad palate is appeased, hopefully after minimal modifications the ever predictable questions keep on coming:
"What comes with the steak?"
"Everything is ala carte m'am."
"Nothing comes with the steak?? For $42 and I don't even get any vegtables? "Well what can I get if I pay for these special sides"
"All of the ala carte sides are listed on the menu."
Keep in mind that the menu at this particular restaurant consists of a verbal account of selections accompanied by a single-sided menu card. Yet questions are endless. Very often they are stupid questions.
It always amazes and amuses me (in a sick and twisted way), that people who pride themselves on such distinguished taste and premium class believe that because they are paying more than average for high quality products and services, they own you for the evening. As a server you know nothing. You should be so lucky to provide food to such a caliber of people. Generally very few appreciate the concept of understated elegance, affluence, or class. Understated anything for that matter: makeup, perfume, attire. The more the better. Except where the gratuity is concerned.
How many times did I experience this lovely exchange...
Guest: "I'll have a salad."
Me: "Sir, which salad would you like (pointing to the extensive salad selection)?"
After awhile I became skilled in anticipating how the rest of this conversation would go. Usually something like this:
(Ignoring the salad selection offered) "I just want a regular garden salad."
"Sir these are the salads we offer." (pointing to the salad section of the menu)
"Don't you just have a regular garden salad?"
Emphasis on the regular as if the salads offered by this conservative, corporate steakhouse behemoth are marginal, trendy, or otherwise "exotic."
Torn between an oath to exceed the guests' expectations and the strict guidelines of the infamous "spec," the outcome of this exchange was the result of a delicate balance of several factors, one being the level of agitation evident from the guests's tone. After the salad palate is appeased, hopefully after minimal modifications the ever predictable questions keep on coming:
"What comes with the steak?"
"Everything is ala carte m'am."
"Nothing comes with the steak?? For $42 and I don't even get any vegtables? "Well what can I get if I pay for these special sides"
"All of the ala carte sides are listed on the menu."
Keep in mind that the menu at this particular restaurant consists of a verbal account of selections accompanied by a single-sided menu card. Yet questions are endless. Very often they are stupid questions.
It always amazes and amuses me (in a sick and twisted way), that people who pride themselves on such distinguished taste and premium class believe that because they are paying more than average for high quality products and services, they own you for the evening. As a server you know nothing. You should be so lucky to provide food to such a caliber of people. Generally very few appreciate the concept of understated elegance, affluence, or class. Understated anything for that matter: makeup, perfume, attire. The more the better. Except where the gratuity is concerned.
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