Am I Famous Yet?

Since I am currently a full-time actor (for one more day) and I was recognized the other day while buying ice cream on Main Street, I thought I would rehash an old post about celebrities. You know, since one sixteen year old girl asked me if I was in "that play" I am a total celeb (in my delusional mind).

I hate waiting on celebrities. I haven't had to do it very often because famous people don't usually come into the places that I sling hash. Generally, they like to go to places that are not chains, franchises and/or crappy and I usually work at places that are chains, franchises and/or crappy. If a famous person comes into a place I work, then I instantly question their judgement and credibility. Once when I worked in Times Square at the Houlihan's a soap opera actor came into my station. It was the old guy who played Palmer Cortlandt on All My Children. I think he's still on it. Anyhoo, he sat in my station with this really hot Latin guy who was about 100 years his junior. Palmer looked like he just came off the set of the soap because he was wearing a freaking ascot around his neck. The young guy was all flirty with him and and then Palmer paid for their lunch on his credit card. I ain't judging or anything, but can you say "sugar daddy"? He was really nice though and it was exciting to see someone from one of my stories. Several months ago Ivanka Trump came into VYNL where I was working at the time. Obviously, she was slumming or she wanted to see how poor people live because she came in to have an $8.99 omelet. I didn't wait on her. My friend did though and said she was alright, but only left a 15% tip. C'mon! Bitch, we know you have hundred dollars bills flying out of your ass and you're only going to leave four bucks? Bump it up to 20% and share the wealth.

Another person I know said she served the Grandma from Everybody Loves Raymond once. She seems like such a sweet old lady. Doris Roberts her name is. Apparently though, she's a dried out vagina lip. This colleague told me she ordered a two-minute egg. And sent it back five times. Five times. After the first time, don't you think the chef (fry cook) would actually time it to make sure it was really two minutes? And then a third time? And fourth time? And a fifth? Get real, lady. You ain't the Queen of England. Maybe the egg just didn't taste right to her because her taste buds arenow fossils. Or maybe she secretly hated eggs because her last ovary fell out of her cooch back in the Roaring 20's. Whatever the reason, it's no excuse.

If I ever see a celebrity in my station, I don't want 'em. I have ignored Connie Chung and I will ignore any other famous person too. Famous people are just people who lucked out. If they sit in my station I will treat them just like the stroller mom or the old homeless lady who pays with coins: like crap.

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Slip Sliding Away

So I tempted fate a few days ago by writing about dropping trays. Thankfully, I made it through my next shift with my trays as steady as ever so I thought I would take another gamble and write about something else that can plague a server: falling on your ass. It's happened to most of us and if it hasn't happened to you yet, it will. It's inevitable. I've written about when customers fall but who really cares when they fall? As long as they didn't hurt their wallet or break their credit card, I'm good. But when it happens to one of our own, it's a true tragedy.

The last time I fell was when I worked at VYNL. Part of the kitchen and all of the storage was downstairs so it was ripe for accidents. Plus the stairs were made of metal, always greasy and they were so steep that we may as well have called them a ladder. Going down them once to fetch some ice, I slipped and ended up in the basement flat on my ass and in a pile of nasty stagnate water that no one wanted to fucking clean up. I guess since it was only stagnate water in the food prep area, everyone thought "meh, it's cool." It hurt though. And I have a skinny little bony ass without much padding. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation of ending up on the floor in front of all the cooks. Most of them didn't speak English, but laughter is universal. They laughed at me in Spanish and I was mucho embarrassed.

The thing about falling at a restaurant is that when you fall, it's always onto the nasty ass floor that was slippery with salad dressing or fajita juice or whatever the fuck. And whatever made you slip is what you end up sitting in. And when you do fall you're usually in a hurry which contributed to the fall in the first place so you never have time to go clean up. You just pop right back up and carry on all the while having a big glob of 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass. Now don't misunderstand me. There is a time and place to have 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass but that time and place is not while you're at work.

Of course falling can be avoided. If you take yourself over to Payless, you can buy some skid-resistant shoes for $24.99 and they really help. Spending $24.99 on something crappy for a crappy job is not fun, but let me say this. Not falling at work is a good thing too. And not having 1000 Island dressing smeared all over your ass while at work is an even better thing. Save that for your private time.

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Oh No He Di'nt

I have slowed down in my postings because I refuse to write unless I have something really worthwhile to say. I suppose I could type up some mundane crap every day and post it just to maintain some regularity, but it seems more substantial if the posts actually resonate with me. Well, something resonated with me. It hit a chord. Struck a nerve. Rang a bell. Punched me in the (sorry, Marlene, for the use of the word) cunt. And for something to cunt punch me it has to be really major because I don't even have a vagina. Anymore. Kidding. I never had a vagina. Of my own. Anyhoo.

I have written before about my last job and how they closed the place down only giving us four days notice. I had originally hoped to be moved to another one of the restaurants in the chain for at least some pick-up shifts and they told me that they would try to do that. I even went so far as to go and interview with a manager at one of the other locations. Yesterday I got a call from a former co-worker who, although he is totally funny and likable, is really, really old. He too was dumped by the restaurant but still has some friends at one of the other locations. Someone informed him that the reason the owner and manager didn't hire him or me at another store was because we had both put disparaging remarks about the company on our Facebook pages. Yeah, after we were fired with no notice and left totally unemployed, we both may have put something on our status' that said "VYNL sucks" or "fuck you, VYNL" because we were justifiably pissed off. And now we find out 6 months later that that is why they wouldn't transfer us to a new restaurant. To the owner, John, I have this to say:

You think "VYNL sucks" was bad on a Facebook page? The only people who saw that were my 296 friends. I didn't post it on The Bitchy Waiter Fan Page because over a 1000 people would have seen it. Now that would have been mean. If he got his crybaby panties all up in a twist over that, I wonder how he feels about me going to Yelp and posting some crap about his restaurant. Which I did. And how did he like it when I went to New York Citysearch and spread the truth about his shitty ass ways? Yeah, John, you suck. You have no ethics, no morals, no feelings and everyone who works for you hates you. Even the people who you think like you, don't like you. They kiss your ugly fat ass because you are the boss. They talk about you behind your back and question your policies and ideas. You suck. The only thing nice about you was your friendly wife who must see another side of you in order to stay married. I don't even want to work at your crappy ass restaurants anymore. VYNL closing was the best thing that ever happened to me and I hope the next time you are eating breakfast there, a piece of VYNL scrambled egg gets lodged in your throat and makes you choke. Not long enough to kill you or anything, but long enough to make you freak the fuck out. I pretty much hate you.

I feel better. Was that too mean? It's not like he reads this. But even if he does, it's all true. Thank God for the freedom of speech act or whatever law or amendment there is that lets me state my opinion without fear of retaliation. To you, VYNL and John, I say eat my mother fucking pud you sorry ass piece of crap.

Love,
The Bitchy Waiter

Almost Famous

I worked a really slow shift a couple of days ago and it took a lot of effort to keep my eyes open. Seriously, I practically had to pull the olives off the toothpicks and prop open my eyelids with them. I sauntered up to table 25 and asked what they would be drinking for the evening. The lady looked up and squinted at me like she was trying to think of what to say. And then she asked me if I was an actor. "Yes." In my head I am getting all excited because maybe someone saw me in When in Rome. In the background. Standing on the steps. Yes, I am that famous. Then she asked me if I had done a certain show at a certain theater. "Yes." And then she tells me "I saw you! You were so great!" Suddenly, being a waiter wasn't so horrible because here I was holding a tray, but this lady had seen me doing something that I actually enjoy doing. It felt like I was meant to be waiting tables that night just so she could sit in my station and make me feel good about myself. I felt proud, happy and excited. And then I went and got her a glass of Cabernet. Very quickly I was consumed with bitterness and sorrow that I was just a waiter. Fame is so fleeting.

The next night, I was at a bar drinking. Shocking, I know. During my second pint of Anchor Steam a very attractive girl came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but do I know you?" she asked. In my head I'm thinking, "Oh jeez, another person who saw me do a show somewhere or caught my (brief and practically non-existent) appearance in Enchanted. When does it ever end?" I looked at her and smiled. Her face filled with recognition and she said "I think you were our waiter at VYNL on the Upper East Side?" Crestfallen, I tell her that yes I was in fact her waiter there. "Oh my god!! I loved their granola!! See I told you it was him!" and she playfully slapped her friend on her arm as she laughed and they trotted off. Fame is so fleeting.