It just so happens that I have an eye (and stomach) for appreciation. Enjoy this Chilean Sea Bass from Watawa on Ditmars/33rd in Astoria.
April 27, 2010
sea bass in my tummy
Servers gotta eat, too.
It just so happens that I have an eye (and stomach) for appreciation. Enjoy this Chilean Sea Bass from Watawa on Ditmars/33rd in Astoria.
It just so happens that I have an eye (and stomach) for appreciation. Enjoy this Chilean Sea Bass from Watawa on Ditmars/33rd in Astoria.
March 28, 2010
Server Submission: Selma's Regulars
Submission: Selma, sljaljicic@gmail.com
Location: Uno Chicago Grill, Queens, NY
I wanted to tell you about a man and his mother who are regulars at the restaurant.
The man is in his late 40's to early 50's. He comes in with his elderly mother and sits at the same table - every time. He finds the server immediately and orders two cups of Sierra Mist, a vegetable soup, boneless wings with no sauce, our smallest steak, and two sides of mashed potatoes. He then pays and tips the server quite nicely... and then leaves his mother there. Mind you, this woman doesn't speak a word of English.
The first thing I was curious about... why does he order two cups of Sierra Mist when the refills are free? The answer: one is used for soaking her dentures.
She began to eat the soup just fine. When it came time to eat her boneless wings, she peeled the breading off as if they were peanuts and sucked the chicken out from the inside (EWW). It was a slow morning in the restaurant and I was so caught up in the way she was eating these wings, I spent about twenty minutes just staring at her in complete disgust. That's when it dawned on me... this woman's next course was a well-done, eight ounce steak. I could not even imagine how she would tackle this. I thought perhaps that soaking her teeth in sugar-laden Sierra Mist must somehow make them strong enough for her to be able to chew steak. I gave the steak to her then hid behind a wall for a while just watching her attempt at eat.
She first cut the steak into small pieces... without eating any of the meat, she moved on to her mashed potatoes. After a few bites, she fell asleep. Her son picked her up almost three hours later (one hour after shift change, of course). He actually asked if she was being good. I went and told one of the other servers the story, and before I could finish he replied, "Oh yeah, table 63? Apparently we're cheaper than a nursing home."
Thanks for another stellar tale supporting why we enjoy our jobs!
Props to you, Selma!
Location: Uno Chicago Grill, Queens, NY
I wanted to tell you about a man and his mother who are regulars at the restaurant.
The man is in his late 40's to early 50's. He comes in with his elderly mother and sits at the same table - every time. He finds the server immediately and orders two cups of Sierra Mist, a vegetable soup, boneless wings with no sauce, our smallest steak, and two sides of mashed potatoes. He then pays and tips the server quite nicely... and then leaves his mother there. Mind you, this woman doesn't speak a word of English.
The first thing I was curious about... why does he order two cups of Sierra Mist when the refills are free? The answer: one is used for soaking her dentures.
She began to eat the soup just fine. When it came time to eat her boneless wings, she peeled the breading off as if they were peanuts and sucked the chicken out from the inside (EWW). It was a slow morning in the restaurant and I was so caught up in the way she was eating these wings, I spent about twenty minutes just staring at her in complete disgust. That's when it dawned on me... this woman's next course was a well-done, eight ounce steak. I could not even imagine how she would tackle this. I thought perhaps that soaking her teeth in sugar-laden Sierra Mist must somehow make them strong enough for her to be able to chew steak. I gave the steak to her then hid behind a wall for a while just watching her attempt at eat.
She first cut the steak into small pieces... without eating any of the meat, she moved on to her mashed potatoes. After a few bites, she fell asleep. Her son picked her up almost three hours later (one hour after shift change, of course). He actually asked if she was being good. I went and told one of the other servers the story, and before I could finish he replied, "Oh yeah, table 63? Apparently we're cheaper than a nursing home."
Thanks for another stellar tale supporting why we enjoy our jobs!
Props to you, Selma!
February 27, 2010
Who's fault?
I'm the messenger. I relay your messages to the people who can interpret them best. I even take special notes on your special requests. Essentially, I will pass on your every word and worry to the chef.
Guest 1: "This doesn't look like the picture."
NYCW: "That's because it wasn't pictured in the menu."
Guest 2: "My shrimp scampi is cold."
NYCW: "Let me get you a new one."
...and the ever famous, most-dreaded in all the land of kitchens,
Guest OMG: "... I think there's a hair in my food -- and it isn't mine."
NYCW: "...... shit."
As the messenger, I take pride in my work. You ask for no onions, no mushrooms, nothing spicy. I trust my pen and pad. I trust my ears and my ability to read your body language. After all, working in Times Square makes me an expert on reading multiple languages, numerous special needs, and sleventy-seven social statuses all eating inside the same restaurant at the same time. You know, that hot spot restaurant just off New York City's most famous tourist stop, Times Square. I relay messages for a living. Consider your special order a private message on Facebook -- it'll be taken care of immediately.
Unless, of course, you're unhappy with the presentation. You read the description, perhaps you even asked questions about the ingredients. It fails to meet your expectations and now as your server, I must die. Snarky comments, snarky exhales and other huffy grunts surround your table, encircling my rounds.
Even though it was really the kitchen's fault. Or your expectations were just too freakin' high. Your idea of NYC might have been born out of The Times or Vogue... but the real city of New York is run by people like me: putting on a serving uniform one leg at a time.
Enjoy your new scampi and please don't kill the messenger,
Guest 1: "This doesn't look like the picture."
NYCW: "That's because it wasn't pictured in the menu."
Guest 2: "My shrimp scampi is cold."
NYCW: "Let me get you a new one."
...and the ever famous, most-dreaded in all the land of kitchens,
Guest OMG: "... I think there's a hair in my food -- and it isn't mine."
NYCW: "...... shit."
As the messenger, I take pride in my work. You ask for no onions, no mushrooms, nothing spicy. I trust my pen and pad. I trust my ears and my ability to read your body language. After all, working in Times Square makes me an expert on reading multiple languages, numerous special needs, and sleventy-seven social statuses all eating inside the same restaurant at the same time. You know, that hot spot restaurant just off New York City's most famous tourist stop, Times Square. I relay messages for a living. Consider your special order a private message on Facebook -- it'll be taken care of immediately.
Unless, of course, you're unhappy with the presentation. You read the description, perhaps you even asked questions about the ingredients. It fails to meet your expectations and now as your server, I must die. Snarky comments, snarky exhales and other huffy grunts surround your table, encircling my rounds.
Even though it was really the kitchen's fault. Or your expectations were just too freakin' high. Your idea of NYC might have been born out of The Times or Vogue... but the real city of New York is run by people like me: putting on a serving uniform one leg at a time.
Enjoy your new scampi and please don't kill the messenger,
November 5, 2009
DINER PLACEMAT: WIN
I believe this photo speaks for itself. NYC Waitress approves this message [as seen in Michael's Restaurant, B'way btwn 33/34th in Astoria].
Excuse me, but can you only fit 16 drink recipes on this placemat? I suppose I'll settle,
Excuse me, but can you only fit 16 drink recipes on this placemat? I suppose I'll settle,
October 26, 2009
I'M BA-ACK.
First, my apologies. I had a small battle with 'the real world' -- also known as yet another attempt to become famous via full-time day job. Well, that clearly worked out.
In NYC server fashion, NYCWaitress is currently seeking her next gig in hospitality. Hang tight and prepare: the best is yet to come.
Does your establishment pool tips or no?
August 24, 2009
Staff Sundays: Dominated by Male Servers
The following is this week's installment of things that I overheard my anonymous coworkers say; enjoy.
Male server, "Dear [restaurant name], why is there even a "check for app" button when all the food is going to come out at the same time?"
Female host, to server, before seating a table in the server's section, "I'm going to apologize in advance for doing this to you. We really do like you."
Manager, in utility closet, "I may or may not have just unplugged the cable TV boxes."
All TVs with sporting games have now gone blank.
Male server, to fellow server, "Can you hold out your arm so that when I hit you with this, I can see if it leaves an imprint?"
Manager, "I wish there was a button on the computer for that -- 'comp my f-up'."
Male server, to potential date, "Can you read this phone number? Sorry... it's on a paper towel."
Female server, "I did not expect them to tip me. I forgot their side of ranch... and they're from the south."
Manager, "Are you being SASSY with me? That's it... you're off the food-chain."
Male server, "Do they realize who I am? I mean, I get that I'm black but... this ain't 1915."
Female server, "Today is Sunday. Jesus and them... they like... rested."
Male server, in response to the previous, "Yeah... and Jesus told Mary that he needed to change his availability."
August 21, 2009
Night Out? Fail.
This is what NYC Waitress does when she goes out to a restaurant... she judges.
Can you recheck your side-work? Your salts look like crap.
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