I’ve always said that the restaurant industry has to have its own set of Gods and therefore, its own definition of karma. 

Working in the business isn’t easy, customers are assholes, bosses treat you as disposable. You develop thick skin and a sick sense of humor because that’s what you need to survive. Everything is on speed in this little world, high turnover rates, fast pay and faster paced. It’s cut-throat and the normal Gods of the heavens wouldn’t be able to keep up with their “forgive & love everyone” attitudes. So we got our own special set of Gods, the one’s that believe in tough love and fast karma. 

I can’t count how many times I’ve had to reassure myself that there is no need to go ballistic on a cheap-ass customer or that I don’t need to argue my point with a hard-headed boss because the Restaurant Gods will take care of it for me. 

I’ve been missing in action for about a month because of a sudden job change. This new job literally fell into my lap at the same time I was having major issues with my boss at my first job. He’s your typical bully, and picked me to use as his proverbial punching bag. I was made an example of over and over and over when he should’ve been focusing his efforts on more important issues like say, his business. 

I started the accidental new job and kept the old one, doing both made me a crazy and unhappy workaholic. The new job is stressful, takes a lot of work and isn’t exactly what I want to be doing. I didn’t understand why I was basically handed this position without even applying for it and many nights I tried to understand the reasoning of the Restaurant Gods. 

A week ago, on a particularly sleep deprived and frustrating afternoon I got a rude text from the boss at the old restaurant and my usual calm and collected self turned into a mutha fuckin’ monster. My old boss and I fought it out and I quit, after a year and a half at the place. I never showed up for my shift that day but coincidentally, the health department did show up. They shut the place down and escorted my old boss to jail for illegally brewing his own alcohol and a laundry list of other offenses. 

I finally understand the Restaurant Gods plan. I’m trying to get out of this industry once and for all and I have a good feeling that it will happen soon, but I have to say, I will miss having my own set of Gods… I like my karma like I like my cash… fast. 

 We all have our weaknesses. That one factor that makes us overlook all other serious character flaws.

Men have been known to date crazy bitches because a fat ass has the power to mesmerize. I know women who succumb to every skinny-jean-hipster-dude that looks in their direction, no matter how much of a manwhore he may be. 

I happen to fall victim to the funny. If you can make me laugh, my selective amnesia will take over and force me to forget and look past every annoying and werido thing about you. 

I get customers that charm me and make me laugh every time they come in, making me forget that when it comes time to pay, they will leave me next to nothing… every time.

I recently got a new roommate who, in the interview was hilarious, which obviously made me think she would be the best housemate ever. She has actually turned out to be the exact opposite, so now I have to start the whole Craigslist roommate search all over again.

I’m trying this new tactic that I call bypassing the funny which basically means that I try and hate all people that make me laugh. Much like a dude completely ignoring a perfect derrière in front of him, it’s been an unnatural, internal conflict. 

Sometimes a drink gets spilled. Sometimes it’s my fault, most of the time, it’s not. Even if I had nothing to do with the spill, I still feel bad about it. It’s embarrassing, causes a scene, it’s awkward. When it is my fault, I try to compensate with a free drink or two and a joke, because I feel like things will be ok if you can still laugh after you get a drink spilled on you. Sometimes, unfortunately, my jokes are misinterpreted, as was the case in the “Sneaker Situation.”

Dude and his date and order a round of mojitos (see; you are what you drink). I put the drinks down, pick the menu up and knock over the guys drink with it. The mojito spills off the side of the table and onto his sneaker. He wasn’t soaked, but he was still rightfully pissed.

I apologized profusely, replaced his drink and gave them a second round of drinks on me. I said, “The good news is that clear rum doesn’t stain!” He snarled. They ordered food and more drinks, took their time and seemed to be over the whole incident. 

When I dropped their check, the dude called me over and complained “things weren’t taken care of”. I told him that I can’t do much more than give him the 3 free drinks that I did. He pushes back his chair, gets all up in my face, points to his sneakers and says, “ 500 dollars! 500 dollars! You ruined my 500 dollar sneakers!”

“First of all, your sneakers aren’t ruined, and if you can spend $500 on sneakers Mr. Baller, then why are you concerned about the bill?”

The whole dining room has stopped eating at this point, they’re all watching us like some dinner theater performance. After a couple more minutes of arguing about the “clear rum” comment and how I now owe this gentleman $500 dollars he throws down the money and storms out.

I got a standing ovation and surprisingly, didn’t get fired. 

 *Disclaimer; The sneakers above may or may not cost $500. I have no idea. Source; Neonico

I have this theory about why none of my restaurant industry friends are living in a swanky high rise in the sky and it has to do with sharing aka Communism. Most of us are living comfortably, but living the good life? Not so much.

 When business is good, it’s really good and I’m convinced that if we saved those dolla dolla bills or invested them in stocks or did whatever it is that wealthy people do, we too would be able to live in expensive roommate-less apartments and go grocery shopping at Whole Foods instead of Trader Joes.

 For some reason, we seem to be stuck indefinitely in the same income bracket; I like to think this is because we have an innate understanding of how easily money can come and go. We know what instability feels like and what it means to make a living off other people’s incomes. When we have a good night, the after-hours bartender gets a fatter then normal tip, the cab driver gets to keep the change, and brunch the next morning is on us.

 We have a habit of recycling the extra cash to our fellow service industry friends and in turn, ending up financially stagnant. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I like to think that the restaurant industry is the underground economy for a city like Philly (thinking like this makes me feel important and useful) and we over-tip others when we get over-tiped; helping to keep all of the behind-the-scenes-superhero’s living comfortably and able to continue life in the 5-9 world, staying out of the suit & tie 9-5 world, at least for a little while longer. 

 I don’t know why a woman feels the need to turn on bitch bitch mode whenever another woman smiles at her man but this whole “Super Bitch to the Rescue” plan does not work out in anyone’s favor.

 I’ve seen the scenario over and over; an attractive couple comes in for dinner, I greet them and smile, the woman feels threatened and thinks I’m flirting with her man. She pulls out her best bitch interpretation all the while giving me the stank face for the rest of the evening. The man gets confused and wonders where super bitch appeared from; their dinner gets awkward, they start arguing, all they want is to get out of there and I end up close to tipless. 

 I’m a server, it is my job to smile and flirt with customers; I’m not being nice to you and your man because I want to steal him, I’m being nice because I want a tip and the rent don’t pay itself these days. 

 In order to avoid Ms. Bitch Bitch I’ve come up my own plan to counteract hers; I call it the “Immediate Best Friend Forever” tactic and it goes like this….

 As soon as I see the insecure female (I can tell who she is by the way she scans the restaurant for chicks that are hotter than she is) I walk right up to her like I’ve known her for years and with a big cheesy smile say, “Hi! How are you?!?” I completely ignore the boyfriend standing next to her and make her go through a mental checklist of all the places she may know me from.  Was I in her college sorority? Am I the girl always on the treadmill next to hers at the gym? Or maybe I’m her old roommate’s sister’s roommate. I don’t care what she thinks, as long as she thinks something.

 I seat them at their table and tell her that everything she orders is my favorite. I barely say anything and act bored when her boyfriend orders his meal. I bring them complementary chips and salsa, I give her a free drink sample because, “I think you’ll really like it!” and make sure never to make eye contact with her man. When she gets up to go to the bathroom I say, “Oh mah gawd! Your dress is so cute, it looks so good!” and in turn she says the same about my hair and asks me where I get it done. Female bonding at it’s finest! 

 By the end of the meal she is gushing and smiling from all of the BFF attention she has been getting all night and when it comes time for the tip, her man goes all out because dinner has been lovely and he can just tell by the way she is giggling that he is definitely getting some ass later.

 On their way out she promises to come back soon, he is all smiles, and I am left with my 30% tip and a sense of accomplishment for sending another Ms. Bitch Bitch into hiding yet again. Everybody wins.

It’s hard to meet people when you spend 40+ hours a week in bar. Actually, I take that back; it’s easy to meet people; it’s hard to meet people that you want to see outside of the bar.  I don’t like to impose very many rules on myself, but one I do follow is that I don’t date customers. I adhere to this most of the time except when the customers happen to be super-cute and make me laugh and have potential soul mate status. The times I have gone out with people that I met at my job they usually end up getting super drunk and wasting my time and since I tend to handle things in the most passive aggressive way possible, I never return their texts. It then becomes awkwardland whenever they come back in, which usually ends up being a lot.

If a guy wants to hang out with me outside of my job I tell him to come back sober, and if he does and if we can have a normal conversation and it’s not some drunkster game spitting session then maybe, I might go out with him.

This one dude I’ll call Mr. Preppy came in a couple of weekends in a row, made some genuinely funny jokes, and seemed to be pretty cool. He asked me to get a drink with him and I said yes, but mostly because I had nothing else to do right at that moment.

We’re sitting at Raven Lounge, which is usually a good choice for me and my short attention span because when I get bored I can play Connect Four or Operation and still end up having a really good time. Mr. Preppy did not bring his sense of humor; he turned out to be really boring. Said he didn’t feel like playing Connect Four which in any other case would have ended the little date (people that do not enjoy Connect Four are not people that I enjoy) but in this case I was tired from work and I convinced myself that as long as I could just sit and drink vodka waters on his tab I could put up with him. Flash-forward to last call, he goes to pay the tab and mysteriously he has no cash  but did have the “I left my credit card at home” excuse. I look at him, he looks at the bartender, the bartender looks at me and I throw down the money for the stupid drinks that I didn’t really want in the first place. New rule; don’t date customers, ever.

 Whether it’s the bartender, your friends, me, or the chick at the other end of the bar, someone is judging you on that drink that you just ordered.

Mojito; Do you hate the bartender? Do you want to make their night worse? Why would you want to make someone muddle mint and limes for 2 whole minutes when you could have a perfectly good Gin & Tonic in 30 seconds? 

Cosmo; This Sex and the City trend is still hanging on for dear life. It’s either a 22-year-old sorority sister who wants to grow up to be Carrie Bradshaw or a 45-year-old cougar who needs alcohol in her system so she can whore it up like Samantha Jones. Either way, the drink is tired, just like the SATC actresses.

Straight liquor over ice; Take me on a date right this minute you old world gentleman.

Miller Lite; This is what I think urine would taste like, if I ever tasted urine, which I have not.

PBR; This economy cocktail aka the hipster elixir is for the legitimately cash strapped and hipsters alike.

Tequila shots; Somebody’s getting into a fight tonight, and then throwing up.