Wednesday, February 22, 2006 by Ospite.
0 notations

The 3top saunters in around 9pm and requests a particular table. Thankfully that table was open and I had someone in that section. Two very well-dressed and beautiful girls I guaged to be around 19 and 22 along with a gentleman in his 50s with no ring. This of course causes a stir amongst the wait staff whose job it is to stand around and assume extravagent situations involving our patrons. Within 2 minutes, there is a bet concerning the actual relationship between the man and the girls. (We do not bet money in our establishment, but sidejobs. These are duties each employee must do before cashing out for the evening.)

Giovanni has this table in his section and I consistently walk by and gather small bits of information that will help my odds in this on-going pot of chores. Their conversations involved fine food, travel, sex, money, cars. Nothing at all hinted to his relationship. In fact, he didn't talk down to either of them the way a father does to a daughter. Sugar Daddy. My immediate assumption. But I was not going to enter my bet until I was more informed.

After 40 minutes of carrying myself sneakily past them with my evesdropping ears, I decide to place my bet: Father who divorced her mother, her being the blond next to him. Another 40 minutes go by before my bet was proved to be reality.

"Well, when your mother and I got divorced..." ..bingo.

Needless to say I haven't done my side jobs for 3 days, nor will I for the rest of the week.

Meanwhile Giovanni was working his magic. He had a goal of retrieving the blond's phone number right under her father's nose. The man is good, and I was interested to see HOW good he really is. At the end of the vening after they paid and retreated to the Mercedes S500 outside, Van, as we call him, wandered over to me. I went first.

"Sorry about that bud. High hopes, I know." A grin swept over his face. He held up a tiny slip of paper, opened his waiter pad and copied the number into it. Without saying a word, he strolled on by.

Now, being a bit of a blogger, I was also swept into the world of MySpace. While perusing a friend's band page I found a face I found rather familiar. A face I couldn't place immediately. You will learn here that I have a thing with faces. I am horrible with names, but faces I remember always. It was her. The Blond.

I clicked her profile and opened it finding rather intriguing information. ...She was 16... Now, there are girls who far surpass their age in looks, but never had I met one like this. But sure enough, the face, body, eyes, and manerisms based on her writing matched exactly. I could not wait to see Van again.

The next evening as we were prepping the floor for our second rush, I pulled Van aside.

"You remember that blond...what happened when you called her?"
"Nothing man, I copied her number wrong. Why?"
I described how I found her on MySpace.
"Guess how old she was.."
"umm..18?"
"16."
"Daaaaaa*n...holy sh*t...F**k...sh*t..wow. Talk about a blessing in disguise. Well, at least I know I've still 'got it.'"
Thursday, February 16, 2006 by Ospite.
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So on my way home tonight I decided to stop into my favorite pub for a pint after work tonight. The glory of wireless internet. There are times when Guinness makes all things right, even just a pint, especially when it's served to you by a Brit.

Tonight I sat a couple in a quiet romantic section of the trattoria...clearly this was the second or third date for them based on his slightly jittery glances all over the restaurant. The 'ok, how am I doing?' look. Both were in their early twenties, reasonably dressed but nothing extravagent. The move she was about to make is something I've grown accustomed to in the customer service world: intentional cleavage display.

"Mark. Dangerous cleavage at table 82...be careful, don't stare. Maria knows what I'm talking about."
"What do I know about?"
"Girls showing things off to waiters."
"Was she modestly dressed except for the top?"
"Yes"
"Did she give you the 'cleavage-lean'?"
"Yes."
"Did she make sure the boyfriend didn't see her showing off?"
"Yes."
"Then she was saying, 'Boy, you best look because this is a special occasion and these aren't normally on display. I'm trying to make sure I've still got it.'"
"Yes, this is something I'm learning as I go here."
"Did you look?"
"Of course not. I am a professional."
"Did she try harder?"
"Of course...and then I walked away."
"Good man."

Mark is in his early twenties and has a thing for the ladies. He's not a bad looking guy, but he has a tendancy to stare. He wandered over to their table muttering, "82...don't stare...don't stare."


Now this conversation/situation spurred a conversation with a friend of mine sitting next to me at said pub. I have mentioned previously that men have the urge to hit on their waitresses for certain reasons. What has come up tonight is the women also feel the urge to hit on their waiters, but the reasons are different.

From polling several women this evening as well as digging into the depths of my personal femininity (albeit small), we have come to the conclusion that at heart, women want a man who will fulfill all her needs. A man who will pamper her. A man who will let her kick back and relax, taking care of her completely. While these are things I've always known, for some reason it had not occurred to me that it came fully into play inside the restaurant setting.

Does this mean I'll change how I approach patrons and tables from now on? No. Does it mean I may milk it for all its worth working the tips angle? Probably.
Thursday, February 09, 2006 by Ospite.
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I was asked recently by a friend of mine how the new job was going.

"So why again did you settle into restaurant work?"

"I've been hired to make the restaurant a more efficent business as well as deal with employees who, well, need not be employed."

"So you're the Two Bobs."

"What?"

"The Two Bobs. You know, Office Space?"

"Ah yes. Actually, that's pretty close."

The management at this trattoria is a relatively new staff and they have yet to earn the true respect of the waitstaff. I'm kin of in between the two worlds. They don't realize that I'm there to do what I'm there to do, and they also don't realize how close to losing their jobs they really are.

Today one waitress decided to go on a yelling rant at the service manager about her personal scheduling preferences and how he's incompetent. After that, the bartender blatantly refused a task given to him. Shortly following that altercation, another waitress launched into a speech about how the restaurant should be run. Obviously her ideas were better than managers who have been in the business for a very long time...she's been wait staff for 6 months.

The service manager pulled me aside.
"Don't take anything from this batch of jackals. I'm sick of getting hit with their politics and self-righteous speeches from the time I walk in the door to when I walk out. We're scheduling a meeting for tomorrow. I want you in it."

So I spent tonight trying to defuse several situations before we lost a couple relatively important wait staff members. Setting up 45 second meetings, trying to figure out what each person bring to the restaurant and why they're worth keeping. All during one of our busiest weeknights to date. Being the Two Bobs.



Quote of the day: "I have a comment sir. I have the chicken parm. It really wasn't good. It was all doctored up with somethin'."
Thursday, February 02, 2006 by Ospite.
2 notations

Maria is a young, attractive, Italian server. I am often asked by young male customers that they be sat in her section. She is oftenhit on, and very often stared at...or should I say gawked at, or oggled. She does not flaunt anything, yet repeatedly she complains about customers asking inappropriate questions. Today was no exception.

Guy in late teens , early 20s: "Is Maria working today?"
"She is"
"Seat us in her section." - Ask, people, ask nicely. Demands get you screwed sooner or later.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't do that. She is full today."
"Well, move her to our section."
"She has a party of 15 as well as 2 other tables. I simply cannot grant your request."
"Fine."

I seat them elsewhere and Maria wanders over to me: "Please save me if they try and talk to me, k?"
"Sure thing kiddo."

Sure thing it was. 10 minutes later, they had pulled her aside as she walked past. What threw me was, the 'boy' who requested her was not the one for whom he had made the request. He was sitting to the right of his girflfriend. Across from him, and also the primary sexual deviant, was his father. Early 40s. I cannot remember the last time I've seen a man stare as disgustingly as he. As time went on, he would pull her aside and ask her sexually explicit questions, such as her favorite sexual positions and why.



This topic has been covered elsewhere, but I think it need be repeated.

1. Men seduce women in the context of a social atmosphere. He is out for an evening on the town spending money and enjoying himself. He gets a waitress whose job it is to be perky and extra polite. Does he view this as part of her job description? Of course not. He naturally assumes that she is hitting on him by making eye contact and casual conversation...two things that people find immediately more attractive than looks.

2. The waitress is taking his orders and fullfilling his natural desires of hunger and thirst. Both eating and drinking can be used to heighten erotic behavior. They are the most carnal of human desires...those needed to sustain life. Overdone, to sustain pleasure. Naturally, the woman supplying the answer to his cravings is open to participation.

3. Again the waitress is 'waiting' upon him. When he wants something, she gets it. When he demands something, she 'hops to it.' A man finds a woman attractive who is willing to answer his every whim. In the back of his mind, one of his whims is sexual. She should answer that call and snap to it...fullfilling ALL of his desires is her job. There is a connection to the 'maid fantasy.' All his wants, no commitment.

Sadly, these actions are often the norm rather than the exception. What men should also realize is that these women (ESPECIALLY BARTENDERS) are hit on so regularly they either ignore it, or it pisses them off. The frequency at which they are drooled over and on makes them the women least likely to ever respond positively to blatant on-the-job flirtation. They are simply inaccessable.

On top of the above notations, There are lines that should not be crossed whether the woman is serving you, or if she's attending a party. That line is when the female feels uncomfortable by comments and conversation. A woman will feel abused by far less than a man. Men, learn the line, find the line, and stay on the correct side. If you don't, large men will find ways to make your lives unpleasant...or, we'll simply never seat you near the 'hotties' again.

At your service, Ospite

I am not in the restaurant business, I am in the people business. I use every opportunity to people watch, because to me, even the most mundane is fascinating.

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