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y0lk #124: "Can I help j00? (or, Foodservice Sucks)" - by meenk
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I hostess at a gourmet kosher vegetarian restaurant. Basically, that
means I show jews and picky vegetarians to tables, roll silverware into
napkins, and take and prepare take out orders. Doesn't seem like a bad job,
and it isn't; on very slow days. However, being the only completely
kosher/vegetarian place in the area, really slow days are rare.
I get in to work just after the lunch rush. This means I have about
an hour to stock the drink cooler, roll enough silverware for the dinner
rush, put the night's special on the chalkboard, and (if anyone worth talking
to is working) shoot the shit with my co-workers. Occasionally people come in
during this time and require my attention. In fact, this is the best time to
come in since, A.) we aren't busy, and B.) meenk is still in a good mood.
Usually, just as I finish with these tasks, someone calls asking for
me to read the menu to them. As long as I am not busy, I don't mind this at
all. They usually just hang up. This is also the prime time for calls to the
other staff. It seems that the friends and relatives of most of my co-workers
have speech impediments. Oh yeah, can't forget the people who call needing to
know exactly how certain things were dubbed kosher, whether something is
parve, and exactly how many rabbis it takes to screw in a lightbulb.
About this time families start to come in. On average, these families
consist of one or two adults, and about four children. As hostess it is my
duty to seat these people as far from anyone else as I can. Of course, this
always proves to be an exercise in futility because they require a large
table. Our restaurant has three tables which can accomodate a party of six,
without turning the joint into a Boxyboy (old sega game, push yellow boxes
through a maze onto red squares) round. These large tables are as far from
eachother as possible. The idea seems nifty in an empty restaurant, but once
you have three families, with at least four children each, the place turns
into a circus. Not only is EVERY corner of the restaurant saturated with the
screeches of children, but because of the tightly knit jewish community, they
all know eachother. Right next to the hostess station (my little sanctuary)
is where these twelve children choose to converge. In a really sick way, I am
thankful that this is also the center of the restaurant. Misery loves
company. The parents of these children encourage this. The Atlanta Jewish
community is incredibly social.
Of course, this is where the picky vegetarians come in. They usually
come in alone or in pairs. I believe this is because their diet causes a
chemical imbalance in their brains making them loathe children. Of course,
_I_ am the one that gets the glares when these children are playing tag in
the restaurant. I would be willing to babysit for a 100% raise. Until then,
everyone else in the restaurant can rot. I have suspicions that these are the
same people that call and ask me to read them the menu. I am glad I am not
their server.
There is an old man that comes in every week. The first time he saw
me he said, "Do you have take out?" to which I replied, "Yes, sir!" He then
said, "Can I take you out?" Being that I am an IRC girl, and not even one of
the charming ones, I just stared at him. He asked me to seat him, then asked
me to join him. Two blank stares in a row. This guy was great at making me
feel socially awkward. Every week he has a conversation, a single
conversation, with everyone within earshot. I hear he tips really well.
By the end of the night I usually know 3 new things: 1.) what
happened on this week's Dawson's Creek, 2.) too much about big business in
Israel, and 3.) unsolicited information about my boss. He claims to be
Wiccan. He also claims I am Pagan. Both little tidbits of information I was
not aware of. He is a master of having a two-way conversation with people who
don't respond.
I like Jews.