There are days when things are good and there are days when things are bad. There are also days when you go on a massive power trip and it is so gratifying on so many different levels.
This was one of those days.
The lunch rush had passed and I was idling away at the cash register. It was another Monday, another slow day. It was mildly sad on some levels and just entirely mind numbing on others. The restaurant stood empty and quiet. A truck drove past the window and turned in towards our parking lot.
The door opened and a customer walked in. He wore a yellow jacket, denoting his work with water services along with sunglasses masking his eyes. He looked around and turned to me.
"What kind of restaurant is this?" He inquired.
"It's a barbecue place." I replied mildly, automatically initiating a routine that I was so used to. He glanced around and at me.
"What do YOU know about barbecue?" He said, a tinge of accusation in his voice.
"...Excuse me?" I was slightly confused, my brow furrowed as I broke out of my routine.
"What do YOU know about barbecue?" Again, he asked me, his tone betraying a sense of disbelief and confrontation.
I appraised his body language, noting the folding arms across the chest as well as the almost sneering manner of speech. Essentially, I was being judged. I normally deal with my fair share of crap but I believe this was the first time someone actually had questioned our purpose of even bothering to exist, as if intending to stir up trouble That alone told me all I need to know about the type of person I was dealing with. I gathered my wits about me and looked at him straight in the eye.
"You can leave...if you want..."
"What was that..." He said, the first sign of mild doubt and confusion appearing on his face.
I smiled at him and gave him my death stare from hell, boring past the dark sunglasses shield his eyes and underneath the blackness of his skin, straight through the parietal lobe and back out the window.
"You can leave...if you want. The door's right there." I motioned to the door, whilst smiling politely.
"Fine, I'll leave." He stared and walked out the door, all the while muttering something that was most likely incoherent and irrelevant. As the door closed, I settled back into a chair, mildly confused and shocked at what I had done before I was overwhelming with a feeling in the pit of my stomach which I can describe simply as euphoric. That was expected since I just pretty much had a massive power trip on so many levels which was unexpectedly satisfying.
As far as my treatment of him goes, I'd say he deserves it. After all, getting insulted is below my pay grade.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Quote of the Day
A single, lone fat truck driver walked in in the early evening.
"Hi, how can I help you?"
"I'll take the beef plate and an iced tea."
"Okay. That'll be $11.41. GET ME A NUMBER ONE!"
"Oh, can I change that? I want a two-meat plate with sausage and beef."
"...Okay. MAKE THAT FIVE! SAUSAGE AND BEEF!"
"Sorry about that. I make my decisions like a woman. I change my mind a lot."
"Fascinating. I don't think most woman change their minds..."
"They have a hard time making up their minds, right? Am I right?"
"...I'm not inclined to comment."
"Hahaha. Are you married?"
"...What?!"
"WERE you married?"
"No...I haven't made a mistake yet...how old do you think I am?"
"I don't know, like 30...?"
"...30?!"
I'm not sure what's worse: the misogyny or the fact that I look like I'm frickin' THIRTY!
"Hi, how can I help you?"
"I'll take the beef plate and an iced tea."
"Okay. That'll be $11.41. GET ME A NUMBER ONE!"
"Oh, can I change that? I want a two-meat plate with sausage and beef."
"...Okay. MAKE THAT FIVE! SAUSAGE AND BEEF!"
"Sorry about that. I make my decisions like a woman. I change my mind a lot."
"Fascinating. I don't think most woman change their minds..."
"They have a hard time making up their minds, right? Am I right?"
"...I'm not inclined to comment."
"Hahaha. Are you married?"
"...What?!"
"WERE you married?"
"No...I haven't made a mistake yet...how old do you think I am?"
"I don't know, like 30...?"
"...30?!"
I'm not sure what's worse: the misogyny or the fact that I look like I'm frickin' THIRTY!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Tales from the Pit - 10 Customer Types Part III
#8 - THE BLUE COLLAR WORKERS
Generally, these customers come in on their lunch breaks during the week. They may be working at the power plants in the area or the local offices nearby or the railroad lines that may run through the park. Aside from that, the description is generally basic and simple:
Overwhelmingly white, majority males.
Half may generally be covered in dirt, oil, stains, Lord knows what.
Prone to eating quickly and generally leaves within 15 minutes of sitting down.
Prone to being loud and possibly obnoxious.
Prone to eat generally anywhere from $6-$10 worth of food.
There's nothing to anecdotal to write about since many of my customers fall into this range. It's really all boring.
#7 - THE TRUCKER
Most truckers park in the back and generally come in to check things out at our restaurant. The overwhelming majority are male and mostly range from overweight to being morbidly obese. Also, there's a tendency to have an increase in body odor.
There also exists a tendency for many truckers to consider themselves good drivers. That tendency is entirely bullshit. A downed flagpole, several damaged lights, damage gas meters, twisted gates, etc. all attribute to that inherently presumptuous and deadly attitude. Seriously, truckers are dumb drivers.
The upside to all this? They pay a lot of money. A LOT of money. And they come back from time to time:
"Hi, how may I help-"
"I want 2 pounds of beef and 1 pound of sausage."
"Okay, you want....wait...2 pounds of beef and 1 pound of sausage?"
"Yeah. No sauce on any of it."
"Okay. Three pounds of meat?"
"Yes."
"Weren't you hear a few months ago..."
"Yeah, they changed some of my route so it's been awhile."
"Uh huh."
As a note, 1 lb of meat generally feeds 2-3 people.
Generally, these customers come in on their lunch breaks during the week. They may be working at the power plants in the area or the local offices nearby or the railroad lines that may run through the park. Aside from that, the description is generally basic and simple:
Overwhelmingly white, majority males.
Half may generally be covered in dirt, oil, stains, Lord knows what.
Prone to eating quickly and generally leaves within 15 minutes of sitting down.
Prone to being loud and possibly obnoxious.
Prone to eat generally anywhere from $6-$10 worth of food.
There's nothing to anecdotal to write about since many of my customers fall into this range. It's really all boring.
#7 - THE TRUCKER
Most truckers park in the back and generally come in to check things out at our restaurant. The overwhelming majority are male and mostly range from overweight to being morbidly obese. Also, there's a tendency to have an increase in body odor.
There also exists a tendency for many truckers to consider themselves good drivers. That tendency is entirely bullshit. A downed flagpole, several damaged lights, damage gas meters, twisted gates, etc. all attribute to that inherently presumptuous and deadly attitude. Seriously, truckers are dumb drivers.
The upside to all this? They pay a lot of money. A LOT of money. And they come back from time to time:
"Hi, how may I help-"
"I want 2 pounds of beef and 1 pound of sausage."
"Okay, you want....wait...2 pounds of beef and 1 pound of sausage?"
"Yeah. No sauce on any of it."
"Okay. Three pounds of meat?"
"Yes."
"Weren't you hear a few months ago..."
"Yeah, they changed some of my route so it's been awhile."
"Uh huh."
As a note, 1 lb of meat generally feeds 2-3 people.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tales from the Pit - 10 Customer Types Part II
#9 - THE NON-ENGLISH ONES
Every now and then, I get customers who are so foreign that I feel like I'm hosting a mini United Nations reception. Generally, garbled English to thickly accented English will get you by reasonably well. Other times, rudimentary hand motions and pointing actions work.
However, sometimes, there's stuff that really is lost in translation...
"I want a fish sandwich." The man said, in a slurred accent, his hair somewhat askew and reeking of marijuana.
"I'm sorry but we don't sell any fish sandwiches."
"But...you have catfish...and sandwiches..."
"Yes, but we don't have any catfish sandwiches."
"CATFISH! SANDWICHES!" He yelled, pointing wildly at the menu.
"WE DO NOT HAVE FISH SANDWICHES! WE HAVE CATFISH AND BBQ SANDWICHES! Both are SEPARATE!
Every now and then, I get customers who are so foreign that I feel like I'm hosting a mini United Nations reception. Generally, garbled English to thickly accented English will get you by reasonably well. Other times, rudimentary hand motions and pointing actions work.
However, sometimes, there's stuff that really is lost in translation...
"I want a fish sandwich." The man said, in a slurred accent, his hair somewhat askew and reeking of marijuana.
"I'm sorry but we don't sell any fish sandwiches."
"But...you have catfish...and sandwiches..."
"Yes, but we don't have any catfish sandwiches."
"CATFISH! SANDWICHES!" He yelled, pointing wildly at the menu.
"WE DO NOT HAVE FISH SANDWICHES! WE HAVE CATFISH AND BBQ SANDWICHES! Both are SEPARATE!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Tales from the Pit - 10 Customer Types Part I
There are ten customer types which I have encountered during my time working. Actually, I really don't know how types of customers I encounter so I figured I'd entirely generalize and compact it all down into a nice, neat little package of ten. Because people looooooove lists.
#10 - THE ILLITERATES
Now, I know that the United States generally has a literacy rate of 97% and there are individuals out there who are unable to read, whether it is due to their lack of formal schooling, dyslexia, or human blindness. When you walk into a restaurant, it's generally assumed that you are able to drive and therefore able to ACTUALLY READ signs directing you. So really, people, is it that hard to read a menu for over a minute before you ask stupid questions such as the following:
"Do you guys have a combo with fries and a drink?"
"...Yes, it's the one that's labeled "with fries and a drink."
OR
"You guys have any beef?"
"...What are you looking for?"
"You know, brisket."
"...We have beef plates, beef sandwiches, beef by the pound..."
"Where?"
"...Up there...and over there."
OR
"What kind of restaurant is this?"
"...We're a BBQ restaurant." (Seriously, this has happened on more than one occasion.)
There are times when I will start to wonder if Darwin had it wrong that human beings actually evolved properly. Maybe he skipped some sub-evolutionary links. Oh, I know it's pretty mean-spirited as this is written but generally speaking, there's a substantial (i.e. TOTALLY COMPLETE) amount of truth to it. So really, restrain the mild indignation and the sanctimoniousness of a self-righteous position. Everybody lies and none of us are exempt. Unless you're Jesus at which point, we're pretty much shit out of luck!
Honestly, is it hard to read things in English?
#10 - THE ILLITERATES
Now, I know that the United States generally has a literacy rate of 97% and there are individuals out there who are unable to read, whether it is due to their lack of formal schooling, dyslexia, or human blindness. When you walk into a restaurant, it's generally assumed that you are able to drive and therefore able to ACTUALLY READ signs directing you. So really, people, is it that hard to read a menu for over a minute before you ask stupid questions such as the following:
"Do you guys have a combo with fries and a drink?"
"...Yes, it's the one that's labeled "with fries and a drink."
OR
"You guys have any beef?"
"...What are you looking for?"
"You know, brisket."
"...We have beef plates, beef sandwiches, beef by the pound..."
"Where?"
"...Up there...and over there."
OR
"What kind of restaurant is this?"
"...We're a BBQ restaurant." (Seriously, this has happened on more than one occasion.)
There are times when I will start to wonder if Darwin had it wrong that human beings actually evolved properly. Maybe he skipped some sub-evolutionary links. Oh, I know it's pretty mean-spirited as this is written but generally speaking, there's a substantial (i.e. TOTALLY COMPLETE) amount of truth to it. So really, restrain the mild indignation and the sanctimoniousness of a self-righteous position. Everybody lies and none of us are exempt. Unless you're Jesus at which point, we're pretty much shit out of luck!
Honestly, is it hard to read things in English?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tales from the Pit - A little too much information...
As I perused my copy of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales, I was mildly interested in the morality plays of the author while mostly put-off by the confusing nineteenth century vernacular and New England tongues which the author based from the early seventeenth century in certain tales of his. Nonetheless, it provided an insight into the foibles and morality of human beings as well as the constant tension of the role of faith in a Puritan setting versus the role of a common humanity.
This has absolutely nothing to do with the following tale. It was just an observation that I felt was rather keen.
It was the mid-afternoon and I had a steady stream of customers in and out but nothing entirely too overwhelming. As I glanced up from my reading, I noticed a shadow form in the vestibule moving towards the interior. Bracing myself for the incoming customer, I mechanically assumed my station.
The door opened and the customer walked in. I recognized her as one of my old regulars, middle-aged woman with dyed crimson hair and wrinkles forming around a visage that may have been at one point quite beautiful in her ephemeral youth.
"Hello, what will it be today?"
"Well, hmm. Let me see now." She wondered aloud, taking off her oversized sunglasses and glancing at the menu. I was internally betting if she would go for one of the fish baskets since she seemed to love fish the last few times she had been in here. Though it had been over a month since I had last seen her.
"Perhaps you should take a seat. I think this may be awhile." She replied, grinning as she continued her raking search.
I acknowledged and I sat down, opening my book to another one of Hawthorne's tales. No sooner had several seconds elapsed she finally made her decision.
"You know, I'll take the number one. The beef plate."
"Will that be all, ma'am?"
"Oh yes, that'll be fine."
I ran up her bill and send the order to the kitchen. After closing the till and handing her back her change, we began to make small talk. We talked about the weather and work. I learned that she was originally from New York and there was this place called Tony Roma's that served some of the best BBQ she ever had. I also learned something else as well.
"I had the rib plate last time I was here. It was a little bit tough on my teeth, which was a bit off-putting."
"Really now? That's rather unusual. Our ribs are generally tender."
"Well, you see, I have false teeth so it's a little tough on the teeth."
"...........Oh."
"And I thought they were baby-back when I saw them but I never saw that you said baby-back on your menu so it was my own false assumption."
"Er...yeah. Those are expensive...yeah...ribs..."
False teeth.
Wow. That just brings up a whole new string of What.The.Fuck moments in life.
This has absolutely nothing to do with the following tale. It was just an observation that I felt was rather keen.
It was the mid-afternoon and I had a steady stream of customers in and out but nothing entirely too overwhelming. As I glanced up from my reading, I noticed a shadow form in the vestibule moving towards the interior. Bracing myself for the incoming customer, I mechanically assumed my station.
The door opened and the customer walked in. I recognized her as one of my old regulars, middle-aged woman with dyed crimson hair and wrinkles forming around a visage that may have been at one point quite beautiful in her ephemeral youth.
"Hello, what will it be today?"
"Well, hmm. Let me see now." She wondered aloud, taking off her oversized sunglasses and glancing at the menu. I was internally betting if she would go for one of the fish baskets since she seemed to love fish the last few times she had been in here. Though it had been over a month since I had last seen her.
"Perhaps you should take a seat. I think this may be awhile." She replied, grinning as she continued her raking search.
I acknowledged and I sat down, opening my book to another one of Hawthorne's tales. No sooner had several seconds elapsed she finally made her decision.
"You know, I'll take the number one. The beef plate."
"Will that be all, ma'am?"
"Oh yes, that'll be fine."
I ran up her bill and send the order to the kitchen. After closing the till and handing her back her change, we began to make small talk. We talked about the weather and work. I learned that she was originally from New York and there was this place called Tony Roma's that served some of the best BBQ she ever had. I also learned something else as well.
"I had the rib plate last time I was here. It was a little bit tough on my teeth, which was a bit off-putting."
"Really now? That's rather unusual. Our ribs are generally tender."
"Well, you see, I have false teeth so it's a little tough on the teeth."
"...........Oh."
"And I thought they were baby-back when I saw them but I never saw that you said baby-back on your menu so it was my own false assumption."
"Er...yeah. Those are expensive...yeah...ribs..."
False teeth.
Wow. That just brings up a whole new string of What.The.Fuck moments in life.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Quote of the Day
I was manning the drive through and a customer drove up, placing an order for a two meat po-boy. What follows illustrates the inanity of the human condition and the stupidity of people.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"I'd like a two-meat sandwich. No, po-boy."
"Okay. What two meats would you like?"
"Uh...beef. And...is chicken a meat?"
"...Yes. Yes, it is."
"Okay, chicken it is!"
"Please drive up to the window."
Seriously, is chicken a meat? Do cows give milk? Was Jesus a Jew? Did Tiger Woods cheat on his wife?
Good God.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"I'd like a two-meat sandwich. No, po-boy."
"Okay. What two meats would you like?"
"Uh...beef. And...is chicken a meat?"
"...Yes. Yes, it is."
"Okay, chicken it is!"
"Please drive up to the window."
Seriously, is chicken a meat? Do cows give milk? Was Jesus a Jew? Did Tiger Woods cheat on his wife?
Good God.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Tales from the Pit - The Things People Say: Part III
#3: ASKING QUESTIONS, ORDERING SOMETHING, AND THEN NOT BUYING ANYTHING / DAMN CHEAPSKATING SON OF A BITCH!
It was Friday and the middle of Lent. Sales likely were going to take a hit today due to the fact that the Catholic Church conveniently decides to ban eating meat on Fridays during this season of repentance. Gee, thanks a lot, Jesus.
The first customer of the day waddles in. He was a stout black man, with a slightly gray beard. As he spoke, his voice reminded me of the timbre of a log rolling down a hill. (Seriously, it's hard to explain.)
"I want a chicken sandwich. What goes with that?" He inquired, glancing at your menu.
"Well, sir, we have a pulled chicken sandwich that comes with pickles, onions, and BBQ sauce on it."
"You got fries or something to go with that...?"
"Well, you can get a meal for $6.55 with a drink and fries." He looked at me with his brow slightly furrowed and turned around.
"Well, never mind. Thank you." He left quickly, waddling slightly due to his girth.
I rolled my eyes as some of my coworkers offered a uniquely colorful racial epithet regarding the incident. Though truth be told, I share the frustration.
VERDICT: I know it's the Great Recession. But seriously...we're NOT MCDONALD'S OR WENDY'S HERE! We actually make...God forbid...REAL FOOD. REALLY GOOD FOOD TOO! Research that I've conducted shows that our prices are cheaper compared to other BBQ places in this city, which by the way, I feel is extraordinarily overrated with its own style of BBQ. I have to limit my gag reflex when the unpleasant occasion of eating the BBQ made in this town arises unexpectedly. But I digress. Back to the point at hand, if you expect cheaper prices, you should've gone elsewhere. Given the option of paying a few dollars less for crap versus actual food, people will automatically go for the crap.
It was Friday and the middle of Lent. Sales likely were going to take a hit today due to the fact that the Catholic Church conveniently decides to ban eating meat on Fridays during this season of repentance. Gee, thanks a lot, Jesus.
The first customer of the day waddles in. He was a stout black man, with a slightly gray beard. As he spoke, his voice reminded me of the timbre of a log rolling down a hill. (Seriously, it's hard to explain.)
"I want a chicken sandwich. What goes with that?" He inquired, glancing at your menu.
"Well, sir, we have a pulled chicken sandwich that comes with pickles, onions, and BBQ sauce on it."
"You got fries or something to go with that...?"
"Well, you can get a meal for $6.55 with a drink and fries." He looked at me with his brow slightly furrowed and turned around.
"Well, never mind. Thank you." He left quickly, waddling slightly due to his girth.
I rolled my eyes as some of my coworkers offered a uniquely colorful racial epithet regarding the incident. Though truth be told, I share the frustration.
VERDICT: I know it's the Great Recession. But seriously...we're NOT MCDONALD'S OR WENDY'S HERE! We actually make...God forbid...REAL FOOD. REALLY GOOD FOOD TOO! Research that I've conducted shows that our prices are cheaper compared to other BBQ places in this city, which by the way, I feel is extraordinarily overrated with its own style of BBQ. I have to limit my gag reflex when the unpleasant occasion of eating the BBQ made in this town arises unexpectedly. But I digress. Back to the point at hand, if you expect cheaper prices, you should've gone elsewhere. Given the option of paying a few dollars less for crap versus actual food, people will automatically go for the crap.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Tales from the Pit - The Things People Say: Part II
#2: GIVING UNSOLICITED ADVICE ON HOW TO RUN A RESTAURANT / NO ONE FUCKING CARES WHAT YOU SAY
I was standing against the wall, blankly staring at the outside as cars rushed past on the busy street. It was mid-afternoon and the lunch crowd had gone and died down. Nothing out of the ordinary really.
A customer walked in, drawing my attention from the colors of the floor tiles. He was an average height, white male with a slight belly.
"I don't want to buy anything actually." He remarked plainly. Naturally, I was a bit annoyed.
"Okay...."
"I just want to say that you should write on your sign out there something like "Tastes like Smokehouse" or something along those lines..."
"Well, you can try our sauce to see..." I began warily, pointing to the bottle of sauces near him.
He grabbed a bottle and tasted the sauce.
"Yeah, tastes like Smokehouse."
I sighed, mildly irritated at this unwelcome interlocutor.
"Look, we've been open for almost 3 months and we haven't done any advertising really. We've done reasonably well for ourselves."
"Oh, really? Well, that's good. I'm just saying. Thanks again." He left promptly, likely for his own safety considering I would've thrown him out sooner or later.
VERDICT: NO ONE ASKS FOR YOUR ADVICE. THEREFORE, DO NOT GIVE IT. I get lots of unsolicited advice every week. Besides, this was likely a lawsuit in the making if I put something like that up. Seriously, most people who give advice on how to run a restaurant DO NOT FUCKING KNOW HOW TO RUN A RESTAURANT. I'm certain that most of them have never owned a restaurant, much less know how to give advice on advertising. Thanks to the oversaturation of advertising and bombardment of images that we experience as a massive consumerist society, many people who go into chain restaurants want food and are generally sheep lured by discounts and shiny colors laced with saturated fat. Sheep do not tell managers what their next meal should be. Sheep simply need to eat and fork over their money. That is how the system works.
I was standing against the wall, blankly staring at the outside as cars rushed past on the busy street. It was mid-afternoon and the lunch crowd had gone and died down. Nothing out of the ordinary really.
A customer walked in, drawing my attention from the colors of the floor tiles. He was an average height, white male with a slight belly.
"I don't want to buy anything actually." He remarked plainly. Naturally, I was a bit annoyed.
"Okay...."
"I just want to say that you should write on your sign out there something like "Tastes like Smokehouse" or something along those lines..."
"Well, you can try our sauce to see..." I began warily, pointing to the bottle of sauces near him.
He grabbed a bottle and tasted the sauce.
"Yeah, tastes like Smokehouse."
I sighed, mildly irritated at this unwelcome interlocutor.
"Look, we've been open for almost 3 months and we haven't done any advertising really. We've done reasonably well for ourselves."
"Oh, really? Well, that's good. I'm just saying. Thanks again." He left promptly, likely for his own safety considering I would've thrown him out sooner or later.
VERDICT: NO ONE ASKS FOR YOUR ADVICE. THEREFORE, DO NOT GIVE IT. I get lots of unsolicited advice every week. Besides, this was likely a lawsuit in the making if I put something like that up. Seriously, most people who give advice on how to run a restaurant DO NOT FUCKING KNOW HOW TO RUN A RESTAURANT. I'm certain that most of them have never owned a restaurant, much less know how to give advice on advertising. Thanks to the oversaturation of advertising and bombardment of images that we experience as a massive consumerist society, many people who go into chain restaurants want food and are generally sheep lured by discounts and shiny colors laced with saturated fat. Sheep do not tell managers what their next meal should be. Sheep simply need to eat and fork over their money. That is how the system works.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tales from the Pit - The Things People Say: Part I
Here's the beginning list of things that people say which I love to hear. By which I mean I detest with an absolute loathing passion of hellish rage and ridiculous fury. I seem to have misplaced my medication so my anger is currently unchecked, motherfuckers.
#1: ASKING FOR ITEMS WE DO NOT HAVE / ARE YOU MENTALLY RETARDED?
Two customers recently finished eating their meals and came up to me for refills on their drinks. They were two men, one being old white man and and his middle-aged white friend. As I handed them back their drinks, the old man leaned on his cane and said to me:
"So, when are you guys going to have ham?"
"Well, sir. We had ham for awhile but it took too long to get rid of and we had to throw it away at the end."
I inwardly sighed, recalling this debacle. Somehow, it took us 3-4 weeks to get rid of a leg of ham, proving that our investment in it was ill-advised at the time and ridiculous. I get 3-4 requests for ham a week on average. Now couple that with the fact that we serve several hundred customers a week. I think the point's been made but I digress.
"Really now? How long did it take?"
"About 3-4 weeks."
"Well...until you get ham, I won't be coming back. When you do get ham, put a sign up"
I stared at him, my mouth slightly open about to retort with something in regards to his mother and a quick death but luckily, prudence caught me instead.
"Eh, don't worry. I'll be back." His companion remarked, rolling his eyes slightly at the old man's outburst. They both left the restaurant, the old man plodding along.
VERDICT: Old people love ham. It seems their taste buds are so degraded that it's all they can taste. And seriously, fuck ham.
***
I was sitting at the register and reading a book when a customer came in. As I glanced up, I noticed he was a new one. Medium height, small build, and black, he looked at our menu for several minutes and glanced around the restaurant. I stood at the register and waited for him to ask for his order. However, after two minutes, I grew tired and impatient.
"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"
Surprised, he mumbled "Y'all don't have any friedkrandeens?"
"...What?"
"Y'all don't have any fried okra and greens?"
"Nooo..." I replied, somewhat surprised at the question.
"Oh, okay, it's cool. Thanks." He left quicker than when he had come in.
VERDICT: Fried okra and greens? There's a reason stereotypes exist.
#1: ASKING FOR ITEMS WE DO NOT HAVE / ARE YOU MENTALLY RETARDED?
Two customers recently finished eating their meals and came up to me for refills on their drinks. They were two men, one being old white man and and his middle-aged white friend. As I handed them back their drinks, the old man leaned on his cane and said to me:
"So, when are you guys going to have ham?"
"Well, sir. We had ham for awhile but it took too long to get rid of and we had to throw it away at the end."
I inwardly sighed, recalling this debacle. Somehow, it took us 3-4 weeks to get rid of a leg of ham, proving that our investment in it was ill-advised at the time and ridiculous. I get 3-4 requests for ham a week on average. Now couple that with the fact that we serve several hundred customers a week. I think the point's been made but I digress.
"Really now? How long did it take?"
"About 3-4 weeks."
"Well...until you get ham, I won't be coming back. When you do get ham, put a sign up"
I stared at him, my mouth slightly open about to retort with something in regards to his mother and a quick death but luckily, prudence caught me instead.
"Eh, don't worry. I'll be back." His companion remarked, rolling his eyes slightly at the old man's outburst. They both left the restaurant, the old man plodding along.
VERDICT: Old people love ham. It seems their taste buds are so degraded that it's all they can taste. And seriously, fuck ham.
***
I was sitting at the register and reading a book when a customer came in. As I glanced up, I noticed he was a new one. Medium height, small build, and black, he looked at our menu for several minutes and glanced around the restaurant. I stood at the register and waited for him to ask for his order. However, after two minutes, I grew tired and impatient.
"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"
Surprised, he mumbled "Y'all don't have any friedkrandeens?"
"...What?"
"Y'all don't have any fried okra and greens?"
"Nooo..." I replied, somewhat surprised at the question.
"Oh, okay, it's cool. Thanks." He left quicker than when he had come in.
VERDICT: Fried okra and greens? There's a reason stereotypes exist.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Tales from the Pit - In Memoriam
I dedicate this entry to the memory of Karl Krueger. He was killed on Tuesday when the semi he was driving rammed into the rear of another semi, causing a chain reaction which resulted in a five semi pile-up and accident. Some of the other drivers were taken to the hospital for their injuries. Karl was killed instantly, with the police declaring him dead on the scene. The cab was crushed entirely, making it impossible for anyone to have survived such a collision.
He was 62 years old and was a month away from retirement. He had planned to travel around the world and enjoy his retirement after over 15 years of driving. He and my father became friends due to their veteran backgrounds in Vietnam. He took it rather hard since they got along rather swimmingly. Politically active and connected, he was good for a laugh and also useful information. I will miss his regular presence at our restaurant and humor. I was working on battleship design for him which will now sit unfinished. He leaves behind a sister and an ex-wife, whom he was on good terms with and talked to often.
Life is too short. Seize it.
Here's to you, Karl.
He was 62 years old and was a month away from retirement. He had planned to travel around the world and enjoy his retirement after over 15 years of driving. He and my father became friends due to their veteran backgrounds in Vietnam. He took it rather hard since they got along rather swimmingly. Politically active and connected, he was good for a laugh and also useful information. I will miss his regular presence at our restaurant and humor. I was working on battleship design for him which will now sit unfinished. He leaves behind a sister and an ex-wife, whom he was on good terms with and talked to often.
Life is too short. Seize it.
Here's to you, Karl.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tales from the Pit - A Normal Day
Let me walk you through what a normal day is like for me.
8 AM
The alarm goes off and I shut it off, turning back under my covers and returning to sleep. Besides, light hasn't yet penetrated my room.
8:30 AM
I get up and brush my teeth. I spend time on the Internet working on getting a job and catching up on my news. Summary: world basically sucks. Pretty simple and straightforward. Despite what people say about the economy improving, we're in what is termed a "jobless recovery," similar to the malaise that Japan went through during the 1990s with stagnant income, millions out of work still, and severe underemployment. It seems like a good time to find a new skill set to train myself in but I digress. At least it's not Auschwitz. Anyway, I drink some milk and water.
9 AM
Parents are already gone. I look for an episode that I missed last night of House. Watch House for the next 40 minutes. I'm dressed by 9:30 and turn off the heater. in my room.
9:45 AM
The garage door opens I hurry from my room to leave. My brother and I drive to work in silence, both of us tired and in a non-talkative mood. The roads are slightly icy and it's freezing cold but sunny.
9:55 AM
We arrive at the restaurant, the air seemingly colder than before. I walk in, set my stuff down and start loading and preparing the register. The rest of the staff is preparing and cooking. No one's come in yet but it's slowly warming up inside and outside.
10:30 AM
The restaurant opens.
11:00 AM
The restaurant is still open.
11:15 AM
The first customer comes in and orders. I take the order and give him his food. Still waiting for more people to come in.
11:30 AM
A handful of customers come in. I recognize some of the faces and the rest I can tell are new. Most customers order something in the $6-$8 price range. Generally speaking, people cannot afford to spend too much in this economy. The restaurant is about half full. During this winter season, attendance has been on and off due to the weather. When you're smack dab in the middle of a string for 6 franchise and fast-food restaurants, you have some stiff competition. Personally I don't understand how people can ingest crap into their digestive tracts. Then again, people also watch wrestling on television and think it's real. I stand and watch the customers eat and talk, refilling drinks when required. So far today, nothing too serious like a massive explosion of customers.
12:30 PM
Massive explosion of customers. Both registers are filled with customers giving their orders. Most of them look like they're road workers or power plant people on their lunch breaks, many of which have been cut in half due to the Great Recession. All men, of various races simply want something to put in their stomachs before they head back under the axe and the grind out there. We take their orders and send them out as fast as we can. I fill up various cups with drinks and take their money. But there's always a flurry of activity going on. The kitchen staff shout orders and yell and a lot is going on while customers get seated and eat. I think we need another fountain machine up front. Seriously, I don't like getting their drinks because it cuts down on valuable time spent taking their orders and serving the customers. Then again, we're in a recession so we need to make due with what we have. I carry out two trays at once while C. takes orders at her register. S. is helping us fill drinks though he generally is in the back. And the rest of the staff is busily making sandwiches and frying. So far, it's just hectic right now.
1:00 PM
By now, most of the lunch rush has left. I'm impressed with the speed people can actually eat when they're in a rush. A few stragglers are left, talking over the paltry remains of their plates and sandwiches. Scott soon comes in and gets a small gumbo with a Diet Dr. Pepper. He's a thin, blond fellow with a quick smile. He works nearby in a warehouse and once came in 4 times a week. Nowadays, I see him once a week. He takes a table near the window and eats while observing and working with his Blackberry. It's rather amazing how wired we all are in this day and age. When I was in grade school, I didn't have a cell phone. In fact, they were just a novelty back in the early 1990s. Now, everyone has one. Including kids. Hell, some kids have their own facebook page. It's kinda crazy. But anyway, a few people leave and I just stand and watch, reading if I get a chance. From this pont on, it's generally slow.
1:15 PM
Karl comes in with a friend. He orders the usual. I'm busy taking another customer's order at the drive thru and deal with that instead. Lot of people have been ordering plates today. You generally get a good deal with the plates but it's kind of crazy and ridiculous. So far, things are tapering off. M. calls me and I basically exit the working world for about 45 minutes to take the call. The rest of the staff process several orders while I'm locked in the office. I can hear the hustle and bustle but it doesn't sound terrible. We talk and chat for awhile, catching up on life and stuff in general. Nice to hear from M. after awhile. Life just gets crazy sometimes and hectic. Both of our lives. Trade parental stories and such. Then I get the call to return to duty. Nothing's going on really outside Karl's eating and talking. He and I talk about some architecture and also politics about how the Democrats are being stupid and we don't even know what's going on anymore. He's an interesting guy and he also ran for Congress back in the 1980s when he was in shape. But being a trucker has taken a toll on him. I've noticed that most truckers are fat men. Like really fat. It makes sense if all you do is sit and drive and eat food on the go. It's a terrible lifestyle really.
2:00 PM
The part-timers have all left by now and gone home. The restaurant is dead and it'll probably be like this for a couple more hours. I managed to steal some wireless from nearby and I go online, reading up on the blogs and working on my essay for a bit. An occasional customer comes in now and then. But generally, I'm left to my own devices for a bit or so.
3:00 PM
I carry out the orders for a nice old couple who often come every week and have our chicken sandwiches and other chicken-related orders. They're quiet, straightforward, and decent folk. So far, nothing going on really aside from two or three tables filled. The phone rings and I pick it up. The caller ID reflects that it's a local number.
"Hi, how may I help you?" I ask the caller at the other end.
"Yeah, you guys have that pole in the back..." A deep voice replies.
"Um...yes, we do."
"You know I can't park there with the pole in the back."
I remain somewhat confused, considering the pole blocking the exit in the rear is meant to deter truckers from running through and ruining our landscape. The landlord redid the asphalt and installed the pole for that reason. Not to mention we have a gas meter in the back that we have to pay for if truckers hit it. So really, it's a pain the ass for us to fix the damage and it's a pain in the ass for truckers to drive around the restaurant. I leave it up to you, reader, to decide which is worse.
"Well, sir. The landlord was the one who put that one up to deter trucks. I'm afraid he's the one who calls the shots. We can't do anything about that at all." I blatantly lie to the guy. It's actually a half-truth. We could remove it. But it's a pain.
"I'm just saying that lots of truckers won't park in the back with that pole."
"You could just drive in and turn around and park. Others have done that."
"Well, I rather go out the back, ya see? Much easier. Besides, it's going to hurt your-"
"I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Good day." I cut him off and hang up the phone, mildly irritated at the blatant laziness and inanity of such a ridiculous phone call. People like him would probably call the restaurant they ate at before to complain about the heart attack they're having rather than an actual ambulance. Asshole.
3:45 PM
Two regulars come in and ask how business is going. I tell them that things are picking up though it's been cold. It's generally true that people seem to not want to go out when it's cold and gray out. There are exceptions to this fact but as a rule, it's true. I serve them their food and they sit by a window and eat. I work on my essay for a bit, revising and editing. There's only three of us running the place right now with the owners gone shopping for about 2 hours now. Lord knows what they're buying for this place. Or themselves for that matter. I manage to steal some wireless and browse some websites for a bi to pass the time. Sometimes, I think we should invest in an internet connection just to make things a little easier.
4:00 PM
Two new customers come in, both of them white males in their middle age. They seem to be working men judging by the level of grime and dirt on their coveralls. They spend some minutes looking over the menu.
"Ya'll have burnt ends?" One man asks.
"No, we don't, sir." I inwardly sigh. I think I get this question like 4 times a week.
"What kind of barbecue place don't have burnt ends?" He angrily responds.
I mentally remark the kind of barbecue place that knows how to use proper English. I often get irked at customers demanding things that we don't carry whether they're burnt ends or Happy Meals. Seriously. I've gotten requests for Happy Meals. Luckily, his companion saves me from engaging in further sparring.
"The kind of place that didn't burn the meat, man." He chuckles.
"Oh, fine. Just get me a beef sandwich."
They take their orders and get it to go. As I glance outside the window, a long line of cars and trucks slowly builds up on the street outside. It's nearing rush our and when it gets to rush hour, the highway becomes almost a parking lot. During that time, few people dare to come in since they don't want to lose their spot on their precious way home from work, resulting in a 1 hour drive instead of a 20 minute drive normally. Part of me wishes I could lure them in and serve them since the lack of activity is somewhat boring and tedious after quite awhile. But alas, the flies do not head to the honey.
5:00 PM
So far, no one's come in at all. I manage to get on the wireless again and figure I'll look at the reviews on Google for the place. I notice a customer gave me a 1 star rating, remarking on how "the meat was dry and terrible and the sauce was horrid" and also how "people shouldn't waste their money here but the service is polite and friendly."
Not surprisingly, everyone's a critic. I honestly don't give a damn about people's opinions at this point, mainly because so many people come in and act like they're self-professed gourmands about barbecue having eaten at so many places in this town. It's actually spoiled them to the point where new folks just won't catch an easy break. Think of it like giving a cokehead his usual crack over a period of some years, the same stuff generally. Then one day, his drug dealer is whacked and a new one takes over, selling the stuff only at a different quality and make. The guy takes some and tries and then suddenly starts to feel euphoria. Pissy, he goes back to the dealer to demand the old stuff even if it made him feel like parasites were crawling all over his skin. We offer euphoria but if you want to feel like pins and needles, go right ahead. (Note: We don't sell or trade in cocaine. Sorry.)
The Internet really has allowed people to remain anonymous and bring out their nasty side. A lot of negative reviews are simply assholes since they think they can remain anonymous. Isn't that right, Mark C. Stark?
6:00 PM
Two regulars stop by and get their usual orders. The wife spends part of her time looking at the menu at other items while she's eating. She's tried at least 5 different dishes the last four weeks since she first started visiting. They're nice people and they spend a decent amount of money. In the back, there's talk and chatter about the upcoming New Year holiday. Personally, I'm hoping to hear back from some feelers I put about potential jobs in something that actually has something to do with my degree.
A few people come by the drive thru asking for our new special for $3.95. I notice how people can be insanely motivated by money more so than food nowadays. I frankly don't blame them since it's technically the great recession and all. Food is necessary for survival. But money is more important. I wish they would spend more but I figure I shouldn't try to complain to much. My job after all requires me to find creative and semi-legally nice ways to part people from their money.
7:00 PM
I get three rail workers come on in, asking for their food to go. I see them often and they're generally hardworking people with long hours. But they are grateful for good food so we're happy to help. I know I gave one of them a free drink once since it was late and I didn't care too much. Good to know that charity act made him a regular. At this point, I start beginning the ritual of cleaning up the place and emptying out the trash bins. There's only three of us left at this point anyway so things are slower paced.
As I empty the trash, I notice how empty most of the boxes of food are, which is a good sign. Sometimes, I'll find a half eaten sandwich or an entire plate, which is often sad and irritating since I hate it when people waste food. We already took the money but wasting food is simply wrong. Unfortunately, our society is so driven by mass consumerism and ease-of-disposal that it's often commonplace and few people care to deal with it. After all, it's not like the food could've done much good, aside from feeding hungry children in Haiti, the homeless drifter at the street corner, or the folks down at the soup kitchen. Nope, not at all.
8:00 PM
We all start cleaning up. Though we close at 8:30 PM, no one ever comes in after eight. There's only been two incidents were people came in for ordering food. It takes us awhile to close up shop but generally, I count the money, close the credit cards, make sure stuff is locked and what not.
8:30 PM
Lights out and head home.
9:00 PM
I blog about a normal day and spend time on the Internet. Farmville remains a viable outlet and addictive. Later on tonight is the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. I chat with some friends online but then eventually, I turn in.
12:00 AM
Bed time.
8 AM
The alarm goes off and I shut it off, turning back under my covers and returning to sleep. Besides, light hasn't yet penetrated my room.
8:30 AM
I get up and brush my teeth. I spend time on the Internet working on getting a job and catching up on my news. Summary: world basically sucks. Pretty simple and straightforward. Despite what people say about the economy improving, we're in what is termed a "jobless recovery," similar to the malaise that Japan went through during the 1990s with stagnant income, millions out of work still, and severe underemployment. It seems like a good time to find a new skill set to train myself in but I digress. At least it's not Auschwitz. Anyway, I drink some milk and water.
9 AM
Parents are already gone. I look for an episode that I missed last night of House. Watch House for the next 40 minutes. I'm dressed by 9:30 and turn off the heater. in my room.
9:45 AM
The garage door opens I hurry from my room to leave. My brother and I drive to work in silence, both of us tired and in a non-talkative mood. The roads are slightly icy and it's freezing cold but sunny.
9:55 AM
We arrive at the restaurant, the air seemingly colder than before. I walk in, set my stuff down and start loading and preparing the register. The rest of the staff is preparing and cooking. No one's come in yet but it's slowly warming up inside and outside.
10:30 AM
The restaurant opens.
11:00 AM
The restaurant is still open.
11:15 AM
The first customer comes in and orders. I take the order and give him his food. Still waiting for more people to come in.
11:30 AM
A handful of customers come in. I recognize some of the faces and the rest I can tell are new. Most customers order something in the $6-$8 price range. Generally speaking, people cannot afford to spend too much in this economy. The restaurant is about half full. During this winter season, attendance has been on and off due to the weather. When you're smack dab in the middle of a string for 6 franchise and fast-food restaurants, you have some stiff competition. Personally I don't understand how people can ingest crap into their digestive tracts. Then again, people also watch wrestling on television and think it's real. I stand and watch the customers eat and talk, refilling drinks when required. So far today, nothing too serious like a massive explosion of customers.
12:30 PM
Massive explosion of customers. Both registers are filled with customers giving their orders. Most of them look like they're road workers or power plant people on their lunch breaks, many of which have been cut in half due to the Great Recession. All men, of various races simply want something to put in their stomachs before they head back under the axe and the grind out there. We take their orders and send them out as fast as we can. I fill up various cups with drinks and take their money. But there's always a flurry of activity going on. The kitchen staff shout orders and yell and a lot is going on while customers get seated and eat. I think we need another fountain machine up front. Seriously, I don't like getting their drinks because it cuts down on valuable time spent taking their orders and serving the customers. Then again, we're in a recession so we need to make due with what we have. I carry out two trays at once while C. takes orders at her register. S. is helping us fill drinks though he generally is in the back. And the rest of the staff is busily making sandwiches and frying. So far, it's just hectic right now.
1:00 PM
By now, most of the lunch rush has left. I'm impressed with the speed people can actually eat when they're in a rush. A few stragglers are left, talking over the paltry remains of their plates and sandwiches. Scott soon comes in and gets a small gumbo with a Diet Dr. Pepper. He's a thin, blond fellow with a quick smile. He works nearby in a warehouse and once came in 4 times a week. Nowadays, I see him once a week. He takes a table near the window and eats while observing and working with his Blackberry. It's rather amazing how wired we all are in this day and age. When I was in grade school, I didn't have a cell phone. In fact, they were just a novelty back in the early 1990s. Now, everyone has one. Including kids. Hell, some kids have their own facebook page. It's kinda crazy. But anyway, a few people leave and I just stand and watch, reading if I get a chance. From this pont on, it's generally slow.
1:15 PM
Karl comes in with a friend. He orders the usual. I'm busy taking another customer's order at the drive thru and deal with that instead. Lot of people have been ordering plates today. You generally get a good deal with the plates but it's kind of crazy and ridiculous. So far, things are tapering off. M. calls me and I basically exit the working world for about 45 minutes to take the call. The rest of the staff process several orders while I'm locked in the office. I can hear the hustle and bustle but it doesn't sound terrible. We talk and chat for awhile, catching up on life and stuff in general. Nice to hear from M. after awhile. Life just gets crazy sometimes and hectic. Both of our lives. Trade parental stories and such. Then I get the call to return to duty. Nothing's going on really outside Karl's eating and talking. He and I talk about some architecture and also politics about how the Democrats are being stupid and we don't even know what's going on anymore. He's an interesting guy and he also ran for Congress back in the 1980s when he was in shape. But being a trucker has taken a toll on him. I've noticed that most truckers are fat men. Like really fat. It makes sense if all you do is sit and drive and eat food on the go. It's a terrible lifestyle really.
2:00 PM
The part-timers have all left by now and gone home. The restaurant is dead and it'll probably be like this for a couple more hours. I managed to steal some wireless from nearby and I go online, reading up on the blogs and working on my essay for a bit. An occasional customer comes in now and then. But generally, I'm left to my own devices for a bit or so.
3:00 PM
I carry out the orders for a nice old couple who often come every week and have our chicken sandwiches and other chicken-related orders. They're quiet, straightforward, and decent folk. So far, nothing going on really aside from two or three tables filled. The phone rings and I pick it up. The caller ID reflects that it's a local number.
"Hi, how may I help you?" I ask the caller at the other end.
"Yeah, you guys have that pole in the back..." A deep voice replies.
"Um...yes, we do."
"You know I can't park there with the pole in the back."
I remain somewhat confused, considering the pole blocking the exit in the rear is meant to deter truckers from running through and ruining our landscape. The landlord redid the asphalt and installed the pole for that reason. Not to mention we have a gas meter in the back that we have to pay for if truckers hit it. So really, it's a pain the ass for us to fix the damage and it's a pain in the ass for truckers to drive around the restaurant. I leave it up to you, reader, to decide which is worse.
"Well, sir. The landlord was the one who put that one up to deter trucks. I'm afraid he's the one who calls the shots. We can't do anything about that at all." I blatantly lie to the guy. It's actually a half-truth. We could remove it. But it's a pain.
"I'm just saying that lots of truckers won't park in the back with that pole."
"You could just drive in and turn around and park. Others have done that."
"Well, I rather go out the back, ya see? Much easier. Besides, it's going to hurt your-"
"I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Good day." I cut him off and hang up the phone, mildly irritated at the blatant laziness and inanity of such a ridiculous phone call. People like him would probably call the restaurant they ate at before to complain about the heart attack they're having rather than an actual ambulance. Asshole.
3:45 PM
Two regulars come in and ask how business is going. I tell them that things are picking up though it's been cold. It's generally true that people seem to not want to go out when it's cold and gray out. There are exceptions to this fact but as a rule, it's true. I serve them their food and they sit by a window and eat. I work on my essay for a bit, revising and editing. There's only three of us running the place right now with the owners gone shopping for about 2 hours now. Lord knows what they're buying for this place. Or themselves for that matter. I manage to steal some wireless and browse some websites for a bi to pass the time. Sometimes, I think we should invest in an internet connection just to make things a little easier.
4:00 PM
Two new customers come in, both of them white males in their middle age. They seem to be working men judging by the level of grime and dirt on their coveralls. They spend some minutes looking over the menu.
"Ya'll have burnt ends?" One man asks.
"No, we don't, sir." I inwardly sigh. I think I get this question like 4 times a week.
"What kind of barbecue place don't have burnt ends?" He angrily responds.
I mentally remark the kind of barbecue place that knows how to use proper English. I often get irked at customers demanding things that we don't carry whether they're burnt ends or Happy Meals. Seriously. I've gotten requests for Happy Meals. Luckily, his companion saves me from engaging in further sparring.
"The kind of place that didn't burn the meat, man." He chuckles.
"Oh, fine. Just get me a beef sandwich."
They take their orders and get it to go. As I glance outside the window, a long line of cars and trucks slowly builds up on the street outside. It's nearing rush our and when it gets to rush hour, the highway becomes almost a parking lot. During that time, few people dare to come in since they don't want to lose their spot on their precious way home from work, resulting in a 1 hour drive instead of a 20 minute drive normally. Part of me wishes I could lure them in and serve them since the lack of activity is somewhat boring and tedious after quite awhile. But alas, the flies do not head to the honey.
5:00 PM
So far, no one's come in at all. I manage to get on the wireless again and figure I'll look at the reviews on Google for the place. I notice a customer gave me a 1 star rating, remarking on how "the meat was dry and terrible and the sauce was horrid" and also how "people shouldn't waste their money here but the service is polite and friendly."
Not surprisingly, everyone's a critic. I honestly don't give a damn about people's opinions at this point, mainly because so many people come in and act like they're self-professed gourmands about barbecue having eaten at so many places in this town. It's actually spoiled them to the point where new folks just won't catch an easy break. Think of it like giving a cokehead his usual crack over a period of some years, the same stuff generally. Then one day, his drug dealer is whacked and a new one takes over, selling the stuff only at a different quality and make. The guy takes some and tries and then suddenly starts to feel euphoria. Pissy, he goes back to the dealer to demand the old stuff even if it made him feel like parasites were crawling all over his skin. We offer euphoria but if you want to feel like pins and needles, go right ahead. (Note: We don't sell or trade in cocaine. Sorry.)
The Internet really has allowed people to remain anonymous and bring out their nasty side. A lot of negative reviews are simply assholes since they think they can remain anonymous. Isn't that right, Mark C. Stark?
6:00 PM
Two regulars stop by and get their usual orders. The wife spends part of her time looking at the menu at other items while she's eating. She's tried at least 5 different dishes the last four weeks since she first started visiting. They're nice people and they spend a decent amount of money. In the back, there's talk and chatter about the upcoming New Year holiday. Personally, I'm hoping to hear back from some feelers I put about potential jobs in something that actually has something to do with my degree.
A few people come by the drive thru asking for our new special for $3.95. I notice how people can be insanely motivated by money more so than food nowadays. I frankly don't blame them since it's technically the great recession and all. Food is necessary for survival. But money is more important. I wish they would spend more but I figure I shouldn't try to complain to much. My job after all requires me to find creative and semi-legally nice ways to part people from their money.
7:00 PM
I get three rail workers come on in, asking for their food to go. I see them often and they're generally hardworking people with long hours. But they are grateful for good food so we're happy to help. I know I gave one of them a free drink once since it was late and I didn't care too much. Good to know that charity act made him a regular. At this point, I start beginning the ritual of cleaning up the place and emptying out the trash bins. There's only three of us left at this point anyway so things are slower paced.
As I empty the trash, I notice how empty most of the boxes of food are, which is a good sign. Sometimes, I'll find a half eaten sandwich or an entire plate, which is often sad and irritating since I hate it when people waste food. We already took the money but wasting food is simply wrong. Unfortunately, our society is so driven by mass consumerism and ease-of-disposal that it's often commonplace and few people care to deal with it. After all, it's not like the food could've done much good, aside from feeding hungry children in Haiti, the homeless drifter at the street corner, or the folks down at the soup kitchen. Nope, not at all.
8:00 PM
We all start cleaning up. Though we close at 8:30 PM, no one ever comes in after eight. There's only been two incidents were people came in for ordering food. It takes us awhile to close up shop but generally, I count the money, close the credit cards, make sure stuff is locked and what not.
8:30 PM
Lights out and head home.
9:00 PM
I blog about a normal day and spend time on the Internet. Farmville remains a viable outlet and addictive. Later on tonight is the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. I chat with some friends online but then eventually, I turn in.
12:00 AM
Bed time.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tales From The Pit - What Your Drink Says About You
At the restaurant, we currently dispense Pepsi products to our customers. As such, we really have 8 options to choose from and given from what I observe, there are certain unique traits that people who order the drinks tend to have. I conducted the following research strictly at work, while operating machinery, or completely and totally driven to the edge of mental insanity. The sample is very large and the margin of error is ridiculously larger. So if you see your favorite drink lampooned below or get offended, spare me the hate mail. I already get enough Viagra spam and junk mail as it is.
Pepsi
You are a normal, everyday customer who understands the superiority of Pepsi lies in its sugary sweetness of absurd amounts of high fructose corn syrup mixed with a excessive cola and caffeine. It knows no racial or religious bounds! You may also hate the fact that we don't have Coke products and take one anyway. It's like eating your mom's meatloaf since it's all she makes or actually making conversation with your girlfriend because she took away your remote for the flatscreen and cut off your Internet. Likelihood of diabetes: LIKE YES! TOTALLY!
Diet Pepsi
You are likely suffering tooth problems due to excessive sugar intake as well as the onset of diabetes type 2. Besides, some idiot decided to do that tooth in Coca-Cola experiment with you and scar you for life. You're also aiming to lose weight and slim down enough to fit into the pants you have right now. Of course, that's kinda pointless if ALL you drink is nothing but Diet Pepsi all the time. Personally, you may like the taste of it and wonder why all drinks shouldn't be so good as Diet Pepsi. You might as well ask why your bitch of a coworker decided to rat on your affair with the head of marketing to your husband. Because face it, life is rough so Diet Pepsi can take you only so far. To the doctor's office or court anyway.
Sierra Mist
You want to be different. So that's why you totally gun in for the Sierra Mist when we don't have Sprite. Caffeine free and a lemon-lime flavor, Sierra Mist represents the potential of what a good soda could be only to have it neutered in more ways than one because 7UP is so much better. You prefer the lemon-lime flavor since it's a lot less likely to cause you to become an addict. You may work long hours and have a terrible job but you know in the end, things will just work out. As long as your bosses don't know you're using the company credit card to pay for a $7 meal, you're fine. Way to be a rebel.
Tropicana Pink Lemonade
You love to be fruity, don't you? The pink lemonade lacks caffeine and is simple pink lemonade with all-natural flavors and ingredients. Or so it says on the label anyway. You dislike soda and sometimes wish restaurants would stock Hi-C or fruit punch but there's just something about having a cup of pink lemonade on a day when it's 25 degrees outside with a heavy snowstorm. That something is called being out of your mind. Proportionally, more black people get this drink than white people. But then again, it's crazy to think that drinks are influenced by race.
Orange Crush
Black people LOVE this drink (Disregard the above). Hands down, you enjoy the bite of the orange syrup mixed with a tank of CO2 gas when it hits your tongue. You may likely harass the employees with snide remarks or ridiculous questions simply because you are an unqualified prick. You are addicted to the absurd amounts of caffeine and corn syrup in this drink and enjoy buying it every time you come in. Because let's face it, how many places serve Orange Crush and cause the management to threaten to call the police if you keep harassing them about being Asian?
Diet Dr. Pepper
You always keep an eye out for something new and different. Naturally, you gravitate towards Diet Dr. Pepper since it's like Dr. Pepper. Except not in any way. I personally think Diet Dr. Pepper tastes like flat Dr. Pepper only much more terrible in every way. Anyway, you tend to be reasonably well-dressed and have no problems paying with your credit card since you likely spent your cash on that hooker during your conference or going out with the girls to a bar that serves $20 cocktails. You work hard and get your hands dirty but the self-immolating work mentality of your profession prevents you from treating yourself and instead consume something that I feel is the castor oil of soda.
Dr. Pepper
You know what you like. Boring. Predictable. The missionary position of soda. You know what you generally want in life and go for it. One day it may just be a small gumbo or a sandwich, the next day it could be simply hotwiring your neighbor's car and running it into a telephone pole just to freak him out. You can make your mark in a crowd or blend in like a chameleon just out of self-preservation. Your job may take you across many miles but Dr. Pepper is always a constant with you on the road. Along with a .9 mm Beretta for scaring off illegal immigrants you think you see everywhere. You're not afraid of much, including the police. So be free. Or you may end up in jail. Again.
Mountain Dew
I've ONLY had WHITE PEOPLE buy this. Period. You enjoy the strange taste of Mountain and are prone to being somewhat hyperactive and overjoyed when you receive your Mountain Dew. You may also tend to be extreme in your appetite, either ordering enough for a small family to feed yourself or order enough for yourself only to not feed a small family. You are not afraid to try something new and generally have enjoyed taking risks to the extreme, perfectly fitting in with the marketing image of Mountain Dew and EXTREME SPORTS! Unfortunately, you may not drink enough to rationalize any restaurants to order more Mountain Dew for at least two months, which really is your own fault for not embracing the inner Dew. Life for you is A-ok, minus the fact that you got conned into taking out a sub-prime loan. Sorry about that.
Pepsi
You are a normal, everyday customer who understands the superiority of Pepsi lies in its sugary sweetness of absurd amounts of high fructose corn syrup mixed with a excessive cola and caffeine. It knows no racial or religious bounds! You may also hate the fact that we don't have Coke products and take one anyway. It's like eating your mom's meatloaf since it's all she makes or actually making conversation with your girlfriend because she took away your remote for the flatscreen and cut off your Internet. Likelihood of diabetes: LIKE YES! TOTALLY!
Diet Pepsi
You are likely suffering tooth problems due to excessive sugar intake as well as the onset of diabetes type 2. Besides, some idiot decided to do that tooth in Coca-Cola experiment with you and scar you for life. You're also aiming to lose weight and slim down enough to fit into the pants you have right now. Of course, that's kinda pointless if ALL you drink is nothing but Diet Pepsi all the time. Personally, you may like the taste of it and wonder why all drinks shouldn't be so good as Diet Pepsi. You might as well ask why your bitch of a coworker decided to rat on your affair with the head of marketing to your husband. Because face it, life is rough so Diet Pepsi can take you only so far. To the doctor's office or court anyway.
Sierra Mist
You want to be different. So that's why you totally gun in for the Sierra Mist when we don't have Sprite. Caffeine free and a lemon-lime flavor, Sierra Mist represents the potential of what a good soda could be only to have it neutered in more ways than one because 7UP is so much better. You prefer the lemon-lime flavor since it's a lot less likely to cause you to become an addict. You may work long hours and have a terrible job but you know in the end, things will just work out. As long as your bosses don't know you're using the company credit card to pay for a $7 meal, you're fine. Way to be a rebel.
Tropicana Pink Lemonade
You love to be fruity, don't you? The pink lemonade lacks caffeine and is simple pink lemonade with all-natural flavors and ingredients. Or so it says on the label anyway. You dislike soda and sometimes wish restaurants would stock Hi-C or fruit punch but there's just something about having a cup of pink lemonade on a day when it's 25 degrees outside with a heavy snowstorm. That something is called being out of your mind. Proportionally, more black people get this drink than white people. But then again, it's crazy to think that drinks are influenced by race.
Orange Crush
Black people LOVE this drink (Disregard the above). Hands down, you enjoy the bite of the orange syrup mixed with a tank of CO2 gas when it hits your tongue. You may likely harass the employees with snide remarks or ridiculous questions simply because you are an unqualified prick. You are addicted to the absurd amounts of caffeine and corn syrup in this drink and enjoy buying it every time you come in. Because let's face it, how many places serve Orange Crush and cause the management to threaten to call the police if you keep harassing them about being Asian?
Diet Dr. Pepper
You always keep an eye out for something new and different. Naturally, you gravitate towards Diet Dr. Pepper since it's like Dr. Pepper. Except not in any way. I personally think Diet Dr. Pepper tastes like flat Dr. Pepper only much more terrible in every way. Anyway, you tend to be reasonably well-dressed and have no problems paying with your credit card since you likely spent your cash on that hooker during your conference or going out with the girls to a bar that serves $20 cocktails. You work hard and get your hands dirty but the self-immolating work mentality of your profession prevents you from treating yourself and instead consume something that I feel is the castor oil of soda.
Dr. Pepper
You know what you like. Boring. Predictable. The missionary position of soda. You know what you generally want in life and go for it. One day it may just be a small gumbo or a sandwich, the next day it could be simply hotwiring your neighbor's car and running it into a telephone pole just to freak him out. You can make your mark in a crowd or blend in like a chameleon just out of self-preservation. Your job may take you across many miles but Dr. Pepper is always a constant with you on the road. Along with a .9 mm Beretta for scaring off illegal immigrants you think you see everywhere. You're not afraid of much, including the police. So be free. Or you may end up in jail. Again.
Mountain Dew
I've ONLY had WHITE PEOPLE buy this. Period. You enjoy the strange taste of Mountain and are prone to being somewhat hyperactive and overjoyed when you receive your Mountain Dew. You may also tend to be extreme in your appetite, either ordering enough for a small family to feed yourself or order enough for yourself only to not feed a small family. You are not afraid to try something new and generally have enjoyed taking risks to the extreme, perfectly fitting in with the marketing image of Mountain Dew and EXTREME SPORTS! Unfortunately, you may not drink enough to rationalize any restaurants to order more Mountain Dew for at least two months, which really is your own fault for not embracing the inner Dew. Life for you is A-ok, minus the fact that you got conned into taking out a sub-prime loan. Sorry about that.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Great Expectations
The axiom "you shouldn't judge a book by its cover" is one that most people should use to guide them in their daily actions. Otherwise, it may lead to perhaps some of the most illuminating and possibly confrontational encounters possible. There are some instances where the opposite may be true.
Today was a nominally busy day, compared to the last two weeks. Customers were in and out and we ere mostly full around lunch time. This black middle-aged couple came in around 12:30 PM, the man with a bushy beard with growing streaks of gray and the woman with a hook-nose like a bird, with keen and quick eyes hidden behind horned-rimmed glasses.
The man walked up to me along side his wife, who was muttering about the catfish on the menu.
"Excuse me, can I get some shrimp egg foo yung?"
"What?" I replied, annoyed that this had to be another one of those days.
"How about some shrimp fried rice?" He continued inquiring.
"I'd actually like the catfish fillets, please." His wife said to me, ignoring his remarks. She rolled her eyes at him, mildly irritated.
I stared at the man and gave him my death stare, cold and unreadable as if boring into the depths of his soul.
"Sir, I feel as if I should be offended. I'm not sure whether to call the ACLU or not..." I remarked tersely, staring.
"What....?" He replied, mildly taken aback. His wife smirked a bit at his discomfort.
I sensed an opening and went in for the kill to catch my prey.
"Sir, I'm kidding." I told him, my expression softening slightly though without any betrayal of a smile or laughter.
"But...you're offended?" Obviously, he didn't get the fact that I was toying with him.
"Oh, he's not. Just stop it and order something." His wife barked, with a slightly amused look on her face.
The husband acquiesced and placed his order, returning back to normal.
Afterwards, the woman came up to me. She and her husband had finished their meals. I was mildly lost in my own world and didn't notice them until she stood at the register. She looked at me, her eyes shining slightly.
"I just want to say that that was delicious. I'm definitely coming back!" I was taken aback by the compliments since no one had every gone up to me like this before.
"Er, well...thank you, madam." I stammered slightly, bemused.
"I was sitting there and talking to those people and after I finished, I felt like I had to go out and start waving my arms at people and getting them to come on in! I mean when I first drove by, I didn't see many cars so I was a bit skeptical. But damn, it was great!"
"Well, that's certainly...admirable, ma'am." I thanked her and motioned my hand a bit to the menus nearby. What the hell was I supposed to say upon receiving such praise? I was impressed, especially considering that my experience with black people has taught me that they tend to be the most critical and most picky of eaters. What happened next was something that I didn't expect.
Her husband took out his hand and held it for a handshake. Confused, I shook his hand firmly.
"That was great. It was delicious."
The couple waved me good-bye and left the restaurant, heading back to work. Needless to say, some things are entirely unexpected.
Today was a nominally busy day, compared to the last two weeks. Customers were in and out and we ere mostly full around lunch time. This black middle-aged couple came in around 12:30 PM, the man with a bushy beard with growing streaks of gray and the woman with a hook-nose like a bird, with keen and quick eyes hidden behind horned-rimmed glasses.
The man walked up to me along side his wife, who was muttering about the catfish on the menu.
"Excuse me, can I get some shrimp egg foo yung?"
"What?" I replied, annoyed that this had to be another one of those days.
"How about some shrimp fried rice?" He continued inquiring.
"I'd actually like the catfish fillets, please." His wife said to me, ignoring his remarks. She rolled her eyes at him, mildly irritated.
I stared at the man and gave him my death stare, cold and unreadable as if boring into the depths of his soul.
"Sir, I feel as if I should be offended. I'm not sure whether to call the ACLU or not..." I remarked tersely, staring.
"What....?" He replied, mildly taken aback. His wife smirked a bit at his discomfort.
I sensed an opening and went in for the kill to catch my prey.
"Sir, I'm kidding." I told him, my expression softening slightly though without any betrayal of a smile or laughter.
"But...you're offended?" Obviously, he didn't get the fact that I was toying with him.
"Oh, he's not. Just stop it and order something." His wife barked, with a slightly amused look on her face.
The husband acquiesced and placed his order, returning back to normal.
Afterwards, the woman came up to me. She and her husband had finished their meals. I was mildly lost in my own world and didn't notice them until she stood at the register. She looked at me, her eyes shining slightly.
"I just want to say that that was delicious. I'm definitely coming back!" I was taken aback by the compliments since no one had every gone up to me like this before.
"Er, well...thank you, madam." I stammered slightly, bemused.
"I was sitting there and talking to those people and after I finished, I felt like I had to go out and start waving my arms at people and getting them to come on in! I mean when I first drove by, I didn't see many cars so I was a bit skeptical. But damn, it was great!"
"Well, that's certainly...admirable, ma'am." I thanked her and motioned my hand a bit to the menus nearby. What the hell was I supposed to say upon receiving such praise? I was impressed, especially considering that my experience with black people has taught me that they tend to be the most critical and most picky of eaters. What happened next was something that I didn't expect.
Her husband took out his hand and held it for a handshake. Confused, I shook his hand firmly.
"That was great. It was delicious."
The couple waved me good-bye and left the restaurant, heading back to work. Needless to say, some things are entirely unexpected.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tales From The Pit - Reverse Roles
This would end up being one of the more memorable twists in race relations during my job. Some weeks ago in the middle of winter, the following events occurred:
We were in the nearing the end of the lunch rush, weeks before Christmas. The restaurant was slowly emptying but there were still some customers in line. I was running an order back and returned to my post as several new customers came in.
There were three of them, bundled up in their winter gear. Judging from their overalls and the boots, I determined that they were from the power plant and had just emerged from some maintenance work. When they removed their hoods and scarves, I saw that there were two black men and a black woman.
They scanned our menu, their eyes quickly darting back and forth. The woman stepped forward from the group and placed her order. A coworker wrote it down and yelled out the drink order to me as I started to fill the cup with ice. As I gave the woman her drink while she waited for her order, one of the men started to speak.
"You know, this is like a comedy show..." He remarked to his coworker, chuckling slightly.
"How so?" His companion replied, his attention focused on our menu.
"Well," The man started to explain, "You got a bunch of Asians making barbecue and serving it to us...I mean, am I right?" He looked at me, upon finishing his remarks.
I stared at him and I turned to look at my cousin, whose mouth was slightly open and his eyes wide in shock and confusion. The black woman stared back and forth at her coworker, unsure whether to apologize or to even say anything.
My cousin and I stared at the man for a few more seconds, oblivious to the pandemonium unfolding around us. We started to laugh and the black men started to join in. Internally, we were rather annoyed and mildly offended. Luckily, before any drastic occurred, we were handed their carryout orders. We dispensed them to the men and the woman and bade them good day. The woman gave us a slightly bemused glance as she left with her companions.
Afterwards, my cousin grabbed my arm and turned to me. In a quiet whisper he asked me, "Is it just me or was that kinda racist?"
I paused for a second and replied, "I'm not really sure but it certainly did feel somewhat racist."
"But they're black...and we're Asians..."
"Yeah, I know. I don't know how this ethno-reverse-racism shit works. It's...it's a bit different."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
Needless to say, this wouldn't be the last time stuff like this would happen.
We were in the nearing the end of the lunch rush, weeks before Christmas. The restaurant was slowly emptying but there were still some customers in line. I was running an order back and returned to my post as several new customers came in.
There were three of them, bundled up in their winter gear. Judging from their overalls and the boots, I determined that they were from the power plant and had just emerged from some maintenance work. When they removed their hoods and scarves, I saw that there were two black men and a black woman.
They scanned our menu, their eyes quickly darting back and forth. The woman stepped forward from the group and placed her order. A coworker wrote it down and yelled out the drink order to me as I started to fill the cup with ice. As I gave the woman her drink while she waited for her order, one of the men started to speak.
"You know, this is like a comedy show..." He remarked to his coworker, chuckling slightly.
"How so?" His companion replied, his attention focused on our menu.
"Well," The man started to explain, "You got a bunch of Asians making barbecue and serving it to us...I mean, am I right?" He looked at me, upon finishing his remarks.
I stared at him and I turned to look at my cousin, whose mouth was slightly open and his eyes wide in shock and confusion. The black woman stared back and forth at her coworker, unsure whether to apologize or to even say anything.
My cousin and I stared at the man for a few more seconds, oblivious to the pandemonium unfolding around us. We started to laugh and the black men started to join in. Internally, we were rather annoyed and mildly offended. Luckily, before any drastic occurred, we were handed their carryout orders. We dispensed them to the men and the woman and bade them good day. The woman gave us a slightly bemused glance as she left with her companions.
Afterwards, my cousin grabbed my arm and turned to me. In a quiet whisper he asked me, "Is it just me or was that kinda racist?"
I paused for a second and replied, "I'm not really sure but it certainly did feel somewhat racist."
"But they're black...and we're Asians..."
"Yeah, I know. I don't know how this ethno-reverse-racism shit works. It's...it's a bit different."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
Needless to say, this wouldn't be the last time stuff like this would happen.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Rock Bottom
There are times when the going gets rough and the rough get going. There are also times when you really really know you've hit rock bottom. This is the story of one of the latter.
Today was a mildly slow day. Our lunch hour wasn't brisk as usual and it just felt a bit sad and slow. I was working on my book and outlining some ideas on the countertop in the afternoon. I hadn't had a customer for about an hour or so. Mildly bored, I walked back to the kitchen area to just think about some stuff and seek a change of scenery. However, I was then recalled back to the front line of duty as a customer came in.
"Hi, how I may help you?" I automatically said to the man who walked in the door. He was rather tall, with light brown skin and eyes that appeared slightly unfocused as he looked at me?
"I would like some chicken fried rice." He said, his Indian accent showing through slightly.
I was momentarily stunned as he watched me, clutching his hat. I didn't expect such a question like this to be asked at all since I thought we were perfectly obvious as a BBQ restaurant.
"Sir, we don't have any chicken fried rice. This is...this is a barbecue restaurant." I shuffled some orders nervously and plastered a fake smile on my face, hoping to convince him to see the obvious error.
"Why? I thought you had chicken fried rice."
And I thought you people would help me with tech support on my damn hard drive, I thought. I became slightly annoyed and furious at his persistence for chicken fried rice. However, for the sake of decorum and business, I internalized these thoughts and shuffled them into the recesses of my mind.
"We do sell chicken sandwiches though, sir. They are quite delicious." I offered the choices, hoping he would take them.
"What kind of chicken sandwich?" He asked, looking at the menu briefly.
"It's a chicken sandwich. With chicken. That is pulled and put on the bread with sauce, pickles, and onions." I replied tersely. This unexpected turn of events had become unwelcome and entirely ridiculous.
"Oh. Never mind then, thank you." He walked out the door, back to his truck parked in the middle of our lot. My aunts stared at him, genuinely confused and somewhat flabbergasted at the strange litany of questions we had received.
As for me, I figured I had reached rock bottom when an Indian driver walks into a BBQ restaurant manned by Asians and orders Chinese food. Yep, definitely rock bottom.
Thank God for vodka.
Today was a mildly slow day. Our lunch hour wasn't brisk as usual and it just felt a bit sad and slow. I was working on my book and outlining some ideas on the countertop in the afternoon. I hadn't had a customer for about an hour or so. Mildly bored, I walked back to the kitchen area to just think about some stuff and seek a change of scenery. However, I was then recalled back to the front line of duty as a customer came in.
"Hi, how I may help you?" I automatically said to the man who walked in the door. He was rather tall, with light brown skin and eyes that appeared slightly unfocused as he looked at me?
"I would like some chicken fried rice." He said, his Indian accent showing through slightly.
I was momentarily stunned as he watched me, clutching his hat. I didn't expect such a question like this to be asked at all since I thought we were perfectly obvious as a BBQ restaurant.
"Sir, we don't have any chicken fried rice. This is...this is a barbecue restaurant." I shuffled some orders nervously and plastered a fake smile on my face, hoping to convince him to see the obvious error.
"Why? I thought you had chicken fried rice."
And I thought you people would help me with tech support on my damn hard drive, I thought. I became slightly annoyed and furious at his persistence for chicken fried rice. However, for the sake of decorum and business, I internalized these thoughts and shuffled them into the recesses of my mind.
"We do sell chicken sandwiches though, sir. They are quite delicious." I offered the choices, hoping he would take them.
"What kind of chicken sandwich?" He asked, looking at the menu briefly.
"It's a chicken sandwich. With chicken. That is pulled and put on the bread with sauce, pickles, and onions." I replied tersely. This unexpected turn of events had become unwelcome and entirely ridiculous.
"Oh. Never mind then, thank you." He walked out the door, back to his truck parked in the middle of our lot. My aunts stared at him, genuinely confused and somewhat flabbergasted at the strange litany of questions we had received.
As for me, I figured I had reached rock bottom when an Indian driver walks into a BBQ restaurant manned by Asians and orders Chinese food. Yep, definitely rock bottom.
Thank God for vodka.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tales from the Pit - How To Screw With Their Minds
The following incident occurred some weeks ago and ultimately gave me a taste of what it felt like to really screw around with a stranger's mind in a deliciously satisfying and humorous manner. It also will likely solidify my belief that I can be a mendacious bastard.
It was after the lunch rush was settling down. The tables were still mostly filled with customers chatting and talking about their workplace lives or other topics of generic interest to fill the time until their breaks expired. After that, it's back to the office or the factory for work until freedom rings at five o'clock. For some of us, it's not that simple. Especially those of us who work 10+ hour days.
I was counting the number of orders we had taken through the day when the next customer walked in through the door. Once glance at him and I knew that he wasn't a regular customer but a newbie testing the waters of this new BBQ. I stopped my counting and faced the man, inwardly annoyed that I had my break time interrupted.
"Hi, how may I help you?" I said, plastering my best faje customer service smile on my face, resisting the urge to sigh and yawn.
"Well, you guys don't seem to have any ham..." He said, scanning our menu board looking for his desired meat. Mentally, I groaned since I had dealt with many an inquiry regarding ham before.
In reality, we really do not have ham. My parents had to make some very select purchases so as a result, we carried beef, chicken, Italian sausage, and pork ribs as the meats we had available. Ham is rather expensive to purchase and also takes time to properly prep and cook in our pit oven. My personal preference is for barbecued beef or sometimes pulled pork if it's good. Barbecued ham is just something that was sacrificed for the sake of the recession and also my own family's knowledge of barbecuing meats since they learned it in Texas. Besides, why would you eat ham when you can have beef anyway? But I digress.
"No, we don't. We have beef, chicken, sausage, and pork ribs mainly, sir." I replied in a well-rehearsed manner.
"Why no ham?" He inquired, looking extremely confused.
I paused, trying to formulate my reply. Generally, I offer reasons such as "It's the economy" or "Prices were too much" or some other logical, rational explanation for our lack of ham.
But not this time.
I don't know how or why but a thought popped into my head which told me to take a gamble. I figured I was a bit tired or irritated or I just didn't like like dealing with people who want ham. I knew I stopped caring at this point
"Well, sir, it's because we're Jewish."
I stared at him, with an absolute straight face, directly in the eyes. My eyes bored into his, visualizing the back of his skull past all the cerebral tissues and brain matter.
He paused at me and blinked, attempting to formulate words. His mouth moved, yet no words came out.
"Oh. Well, er...um...erm..." He stuttered, clearly at a loss for words.
He was noticeably uncomfortable, squirming at the counter and seeking a way out of this rather unique racial-ethnic situation. I knew he had likely never met Asian Jews before and anything he said would likely offend my being Asian or my being Jewish. I had a feeling the ACLU would not look so kindly upon such an offense, if it actually was possible. So naturally, he was stuck in a coup de grace between a rock and a hard place. However, after 10 seconds of his awkwardness, I felt pity so it was time to drop the charade.
"Sir, I'm not Jewish. I'm kidding with you."
"OH! Okay." He looked immensely relieved and exhaled suddenly. I half-expected him to be furious and suddenly turn into Rambo and begin whaling at me with his fists or guns. "For a minute there, I thought-"
"Yeah, forget about it. I recommend the beef plate if you're starting out here." I suggested, pointed to it on our menu.
"Oh, that sounds good."
So, the moral of the story is that Asian Jews are rare and screwing with customers' minds takes a lot of balls.
It was after the lunch rush was settling down. The tables were still mostly filled with customers chatting and talking about their workplace lives or other topics of generic interest to fill the time until their breaks expired. After that, it's back to the office or the factory for work until freedom rings at five o'clock. For some of us, it's not that simple. Especially those of us who work 10+ hour days.
I was counting the number of orders we had taken through the day when the next customer walked in through the door. Once glance at him and I knew that he wasn't a regular customer but a newbie testing the waters of this new BBQ. I stopped my counting and faced the man, inwardly annoyed that I had my break time interrupted.
"Hi, how may I help you?" I said, plastering my best faje customer service smile on my face, resisting the urge to sigh and yawn.
"Well, you guys don't seem to have any ham..." He said, scanning our menu board looking for his desired meat. Mentally, I groaned since I had dealt with many an inquiry regarding ham before.
In reality, we really do not have ham. My parents had to make some very select purchases so as a result, we carried beef, chicken, Italian sausage, and pork ribs as the meats we had available. Ham is rather expensive to purchase and also takes time to properly prep and cook in our pit oven. My personal preference is for barbecued beef or sometimes pulled pork if it's good. Barbecued ham is just something that was sacrificed for the sake of the recession and also my own family's knowledge of barbecuing meats since they learned it in Texas. Besides, why would you eat ham when you can have beef anyway? But I digress.
"No, we don't. We have beef, chicken, sausage, and pork ribs mainly, sir." I replied in a well-rehearsed manner.
"Why no ham?" He inquired, looking extremely confused.
I paused, trying to formulate my reply. Generally, I offer reasons such as "It's the economy" or "Prices were too much" or some other logical, rational explanation for our lack of ham.
But not this time.
I don't know how or why but a thought popped into my head which told me to take a gamble. I figured I was a bit tired or irritated or I just didn't like like dealing with people who want ham. I knew I stopped caring at this point
"Well, sir, it's because we're Jewish."
I stared at him, with an absolute straight face, directly in the eyes. My eyes bored into his, visualizing the back of his skull past all the cerebral tissues and brain matter.
He paused at me and blinked, attempting to formulate words. His mouth moved, yet no words came out.
"Oh. Well, er...um...erm..." He stuttered, clearly at a loss for words.
He was noticeably uncomfortable, squirming at the counter and seeking a way out of this rather unique racial-ethnic situation. I knew he had likely never met Asian Jews before and anything he said would likely offend my being Asian or my being Jewish. I had a feeling the ACLU would not look so kindly upon such an offense, if it actually was possible. So naturally, he was stuck in a coup de grace between a rock and a hard place. However, after 10 seconds of his awkwardness, I felt pity so it was time to drop the charade.
"Sir, I'm not Jewish. I'm kidding with you."
"OH! Okay." He looked immensely relieved and exhaled suddenly. I half-expected him to be furious and suddenly turn into Rambo and begin whaling at me with his fists or guns. "For a minute there, I thought-"
"Yeah, forget about it. I recommend the beef plate if you're starting out here." I suggested, pointed to it on our menu.
"Oh, that sounds good."
So, the moral of the story is that Asian Jews are rare and screwing with customers' minds takes a lot of balls.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Drive Thru Con #1
The following incident occurred several weeks prior and can be considered the spark which ignited the powder keg of growing chronicles you see now.
Working a drive-thru window during the evening hours tends to be rather slow and uneventful for the most part. Generally, we received a handful of orders via drive through after dinnertime and we would busy ourselves with our tasks to take care of. I was awake this particular night, thinking of ways to escape this dismal road which I had taken. I hoped that this would be temporary but as I watched the days stretch into weeks and the weeks began to turn into months, I had to brace myself for a long slog.
This particular incident would ultimately lead me to embrace the cynic within and increase my tolerance for bullshit and pain.
The drive-thru alerted me with it's annoying beeps. I had argued that we should have a headset but we didn't have the money to install one, which was understandable in this tough recession. I ran over to it and pressed the TALK button.
"Hi, how may I help?" I inquired to my faceless customer.
"Do y'all have any kids' meals?" The voice asked, mildly grating my nerves. The slight twang and the vernacular tongue made me attempt to determine what type of person I was talking to. I felt it was likely African-American, considering I had lived in the ghetto long enough to figure out how people would talk.
"No, sir. We don't have any kids' meals." I replied.
"All right. I'll take a chicken sandwich. That'll be all."
"Please pull up."
I rushed the order down to the kitchen. Generally, most modern restaurants use a modern cash register system to relay orders to the back. But we didn't happen to have thousands of dollars at our disposal so we opted instead to use a normal till and take orders on paper. While somewhat analog in the digital age, it had its uses in the simplicity of it all. I then returned to the window to get the money from my customer.
A black man pulled up in a white car, reeking of cigarette smoke. He had a bluetooth headset on and was talking to someone at the other end.
"That'll be $4.99, sir." I said to him, ringing up his total on the register.
"All right, honey. Hold on." He said to his companion at the other end. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20 bill, handing it to me. As he did, he then turned to me and started to speak.
"Why don't y'all have any kids' meals? I'm sure kids wouldn't mind eating here as well." He asked, in a concerned manner.
"Well, sir. Our main clientele are the people who work in this industrial area so we don't get many children out here often." I replied.
"Well, I think you may get lots of business with kids' meals, just so you know."
"I'll think about it." I turned back to the register to calculate his change and put the $20 next to me outside the till in both our sights.
"Hold on. I think my wife wants to go to Taco Bell instead." He suddenly interjected, bringing a halt to the counting of the bills I was currently engaged in. Naturally, I was mildly dismayed but if that was what the customer wanted, then that was his own nutritionally deficient choice.
"Very well then." I closed the register and handed the $20 back to him as he reached his hands out. He continued talking on his headset, ignoring me for the most part as he put the money into his wallet. Then he surreptitiously slipped a $1 bill out and handed it to me.
I had the bill in my hand, staring at it and very much confused. I had no idea why he had done such a thing and felt it was a mistake. My instincts told me that something was unnatural so I returned the bill to his palm.
"What's this?" He looked at me suddenly, inquiring in an accusatory tone.
"Sir, it's your bill. I gave you the $20 and then you gave me a $1 bill." I replied, mildly annoyed.
"I don't see any $20 here. What are you talking about?" He proceeded to open his door, looking around at his car in a big show of searching for the supposed missing bill.
I stared at him, my eyes narrowed in suspicion and a sudden burst of rage broke through my otherwise unassuming behavior.
"I GAVE YOU YOUR $20 BACK AND THEN YOU TRIED TO GIVE ME $1, SIR! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO HERE?!" I bellowed at him, with my hat askew and arms flailing wildly. I seethed with rage as I saw my breaths exhale quickly in the pale, cold January night.
He paused to look at me, taken aback by my outburst. To my satisfaction, I saw the glimmers of fear in those foul eyes of his.
"Hey, it's cool. You don't need to shout, mister. It's okay, you don't need to yell." He said softly, as he looked furtively around, scanning the area for any passerbys within earshot of us.
He closed his car door and stepped on the pedal, escaping to the street in front of the restaurant, like a mouse fleeing the claws of its feline predator. He didn't even pause to turn left for the Taco Bell near us but simply disappeared into the darkness from which he came.
And thus, these tales were born.
Working a drive-thru window during the evening hours tends to be rather slow and uneventful for the most part. Generally, we received a handful of orders via drive through after dinnertime and we would busy ourselves with our tasks to take care of. I was awake this particular night, thinking of ways to escape this dismal road which I had taken. I hoped that this would be temporary but as I watched the days stretch into weeks and the weeks began to turn into months, I had to brace myself for a long slog.
This particular incident would ultimately lead me to embrace the cynic within and increase my tolerance for bullshit and pain.
The drive-thru alerted me with it's annoying beeps. I had argued that we should have a headset but we didn't have the money to install one, which was understandable in this tough recession. I ran over to it and pressed the TALK button.
"Hi, how may I help?" I inquired to my faceless customer.
"Do y'all have any kids' meals?" The voice asked, mildly grating my nerves. The slight twang and the vernacular tongue made me attempt to determine what type of person I was talking to. I felt it was likely African-American, considering I had lived in the ghetto long enough to figure out how people would talk.
"No, sir. We don't have any kids' meals." I replied.
"All right. I'll take a chicken sandwich. That'll be all."
"Please pull up."
I rushed the order down to the kitchen. Generally, most modern restaurants use a modern cash register system to relay orders to the back. But we didn't happen to have thousands of dollars at our disposal so we opted instead to use a normal till and take orders on paper. While somewhat analog in the digital age, it had its uses in the simplicity of it all. I then returned to the window to get the money from my customer.
A black man pulled up in a white car, reeking of cigarette smoke. He had a bluetooth headset on and was talking to someone at the other end.
"That'll be $4.99, sir." I said to him, ringing up his total on the register.
"All right, honey. Hold on." He said to his companion at the other end. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20 bill, handing it to me. As he did, he then turned to me and started to speak.
"Why don't y'all have any kids' meals? I'm sure kids wouldn't mind eating here as well." He asked, in a concerned manner.
"Well, sir. Our main clientele are the people who work in this industrial area so we don't get many children out here often." I replied.
"Well, I think you may get lots of business with kids' meals, just so you know."
"I'll think about it." I turned back to the register to calculate his change and put the $20 next to me outside the till in both our sights.
"Hold on. I think my wife wants to go to Taco Bell instead." He suddenly interjected, bringing a halt to the counting of the bills I was currently engaged in. Naturally, I was mildly dismayed but if that was what the customer wanted, then that was his own nutritionally deficient choice.
"Very well then." I closed the register and handed the $20 back to him as he reached his hands out. He continued talking on his headset, ignoring me for the most part as he put the money into his wallet. Then he surreptitiously slipped a $1 bill out and handed it to me.
I had the bill in my hand, staring at it and very much confused. I had no idea why he had done such a thing and felt it was a mistake. My instincts told me that something was unnatural so I returned the bill to his palm.
"What's this?" He looked at me suddenly, inquiring in an accusatory tone.
"Sir, it's your bill. I gave you the $20 and then you gave me a $1 bill." I replied, mildly annoyed.
"I don't see any $20 here. What are you talking about?" He proceeded to open his door, looking around at his car in a big show of searching for the supposed missing bill.
I stared at him, my eyes narrowed in suspicion and a sudden burst of rage broke through my otherwise unassuming behavior.
"I GAVE YOU YOUR $20 BACK AND THEN YOU TRIED TO GIVE ME $1, SIR! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO HERE?!" I bellowed at him, with my hat askew and arms flailing wildly. I seethed with rage as I saw my breaths exhale quickly in the pale, cold January night.
He paused to look at me, taken aback by my outburst. To my satisfaction, I saw the glimmers of fear in those foul eyes of his.
"Hey, it's cool. You don't need to shout, mister. It's okay, you don't need to yell." He said softly, as he looked furtively around, scanning the area for any passerbys within earshot of us.
He closed his car door and stepped on the pedal, escaping to the street in front of the restaurant, like a mouse fleeing the claws of its feline predator. He didn't even pause to turn left for the Taco Bell near us but simply disappeared into the darkness from which he came.
And thus, these tales were born.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Racial Misadventure #1
It was a day like any other Saturday. Cold, dreary, and gloomy with a sepulchral feel outside. How I loathed and hated winter, as it twisted me and affected me with a mood to equally match the depressing landscape. But as the snow melted and bits of sunlight came through, there was always hope for better times ahead.
Ignorance on the other hand remains a constant.
An African-American man came in and placed an order. Judging by his grizzled beard with bits of gray and the rough cut of his hands, I felt that he was a truck driver. This was made more obvious by the coat with many patches of various states he had on him. I wrote down his order and yelled it back to my aunt and mother to get a move on. It had been rather slow so we were lethargic. As I turned back to the register, the man suddenly spoke to me.
"So, what nationality are you? Mexican?"
"No, sir." I replied. At this point, incredulity had struck me. To be honest, do I look Mexican at all? Hell, my pseudo-Jewish friend is closer to being Mexican than I am. I was not offended really but more troubled by the misidentification.
"Are you Korean?"
"No."
"Well, what are you?"
"I'm Vietnamese."
The slow dawn of realization spread across his face as his neural synapses managed to connect the dots. However, what he said next once again made me seriously consider if he was trying to offend me.
"You guys don't have dogs or cats on this menu, do you?" He asked, in a somewhat desperate manner. His eyes grew wide as he pointed and scanned our menu.
"Nope." I deadpanned. At this point, I figured there's no point in trying to get offended since I felt we had passed beyond that into an unidentified region.
"Oh, okay. Because I know that it's a delicacy in some parts of you know....Asia."
"Yes, it is a delicacy back in the homeland. However, we do not serve cats or dogs."
"Oh, okay. I think it's a bit weird, you know. I mean...here, we keep them as pets but over there...I mean hell, they eat them!"
He chuckled slightly, slapping me on the shoulder. Naturally, I was determining whether my next approach would be to respond to that or call the ACLU for racial defamation though I doubt it would actually work.
"Well, some people keep pigs and chickens as pets. And we eat them too."
"Yeah, but you don't see a black man walking around with a chicken here on a leash."
"No, but I know some keep pigs as pets around." I retorted, somewhat mildly exasperated at this juncture in our conversation.
"Oh, yeah, that's true. Quite true. But hell, I'm just kidding with you, boss." He jovially remarked, laughing again.
"Oh, I would hope so."
Ignorance on the other hand remains a constant.
An African-American man came in and placed an order. Judging by his grizzled beard with bits of gray and the rough cut of his hands, I felt that he was a truck driver. This was made more obvious by the coat with many patches of various states he had on him. I wrote down his order and yelled it back to my aunt and mother to get a move on. It had been rather slow so we were lethargic. As I turned back to the register, the man suddenly spoke to me.
"So, what nationality are you? Mexican?"
"No, sir." I replied. At this point, incredulity had struck me. To be honest, do I look Mexican at all? Hell, my pseudo-Jewish friend is closer to being Mexican than I am. I was not offended really but more troubled by the misidentification.
"Are you Korean?"
"No."
"Well, what are you?"
"I'm Vietnamese."
The slow dawn of realization spread across his face as his neural synapses managed to connect the dots. However, what he said next once again made me seriously consider if he was trying to offend me.
"You guys don't have dogs or cats on this menu, do you?" He asked, in a somewhat desperate manner. His eyes grew wide as he pointed and scanned our menu.
"Nope." I deadpanned. At this point, I figured there's no point in trying to get offended since I felt we had passed beyond that into an unidentified region.
"Oh, okay. Because I know that it's a delicacy in some parts of you know....Asia."
"Yes, it is a delicacy back in the homeland. However, we do not serve cats or dogs."
"Oh, okay. I think it's a bit weird, you know. I mean...here, we keep them as pets but over there...I mean hell, they eat them!"
He chuckled slightly, slapping me on the shoulder. Naturally, I was determining whether my next approach would be to respond to that or call the ACLU for racial defamation though I doubt it would actually work.
"Well, some people keep pigs and chickens as pets. And we eat them too."
"Yeah, but you don't see a black man walking around with a chicken here on a leash."
"No, but I know some keep pigs as pets around." I retorted, somewhat mildly exasperated at this juncture in our conversation.
"Oh, yeah, that's true. Quite true. But hell, I'm just kidding with you, boss." He jovially remarked, laughing again.
"Oh, I would hope so."
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Drive Thru Con #2
Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later this time around. People often think that they can get away with trying to swindle drive-thru operators. In fact, many often do. It's one of the perils of customer service and one of the more trying methods of breaking the tedium of a languishing day.
The lunch rush was in full swing, a flurry of feet running orders to and fro for ravenous patrons on their lunch break. There was a line of cars at the drive thru, placing orders and waiting for them. A truck pulled up to the window, one among many in the line.
There were two men sitting in the truck. A short, thin black man and corpulent, pug-faced white man. The man's bushy red hair gave the impression of one who seemed to be on fire perpetually.
They had both placed two separate orders. I vaguely recall they were two sandwich combinations and a separate sandwich combination. The black man handed me a credit card and I swiped it immediately, returning the card and a copy of the receipt to him. Then he gave me cash for the second order, upon which I dispensed his change back to him.
The orders were completed minutes later and I began to give them to the men, waiting for the next car to pull up to the window. However, that didn't happen so easily.
"Hey, what's this on my receipt?" The fat man asked me. His companion paused with the bag in his hand and looked back and forth, his expression one of slight confusion.
"Sir, what are you talking about?" I replied, slightly irritated and rather petulant at this strange turn of events.
"Well, there's a tip on here. I don't remember giving out any tip." He pointed a pudgy finger at his receipt. Scrawled on one of the lines was a tip amount for what I could see as 2 or 5 dollars.
Upon seeing that, my initial thought was one of disbelief and then just sheer anger. I knew for a fact that there was nothing written on the copy I had given him. Furthermore, the ink was different form the pens we usually have. No one ever gives tips out at the drive through unless it's warranted and that has rarely happened ever since our opening day. Naturally, I deduced that this was simply an attempt to skim money off our business and by extension, me.
"Sir, there's no tip. If there's a tip on there, it's not being entered into our machines! So you don't have to worry." I exclaimed, waving my hands wildly in frustration at his transparent and idiotic attempt to scam me. His companion merely stared at the both of us in shock, a slight smile curling in his upper lip. Needless to say, he didn't expect this turn of events.
The pig-like man blinked and then muttered something along the lines of "it's okay" or "fine then" and the two of them drove off. As I dealt with the next customer, I thought to myself "Did this really happen again? Is this seriously a joke?"
Later, after the rush ended, I sat and ate an apple, reflecting on the stupidity of man and the fact that I present a rather intimidating presence to people sometimes. Needless to say, I now keep a knife taped under the register in the event things get serious. After all, you never know when you may need to skin an apple.
The lunch rush was in full swing, a flurry of feet running orders to and fro for ravenous patrons on their lunch break. There was a line of cars at the drive thru, placing orders and waiting for them. A truck pulled up to the window, one among many in the line.
There were two men sitting in the truck. A short, thin black man and corpulent, pug-faced white man. The man's bushy red hair gave the impression of one who seemed to be on fire perpetually.
They had both placed two separate orders. I vaguely recall they were two sandwich combinations and a separate sandwich combination. The black man handed me a credit card and I swiped it immediately, returning the card and a copy of the receipt to him. Then he gave me cash for the second order, upon which I dispensed his change back to him.
The orders were completed minutes later and I began to give them to the men, waiting for the next car to pull up to the window. However, that didn't happen so easily.
"Hey, what's this on my receipt?" The fat man asked me. His companion paused with the bag in his hand and looked back and forth, his expression one of slight confusion.
"Sir, what are you talking about?" I replied, slightly irritated and rather petulant at this strange turn of events.
"Well, there's a tip on here. I don't remember giving out any tip." He pointed a pudgy finger at his receipt. Scrawled on one of the lines was a tip amount for what I could see as 2 or 5 dollars.
Upon seeing that, my initial thought was one of disbelief and then just sheer anger. I knew for a fact that there was nothing written on the copy I had given him. Furthermore, the ink was different form the pens we usually have. No one ever gives tips out at the drive through unless it's warranted and that has rarely happened ever since our opening day. Naturally, I deduced that this was simply an attempt to skim money off our business and by extension, me.
"Sir, there's no tip. If there's a tip on there, it's not being entered into our machines! So you don't have to worry." I exclaimed, waving my hands wildly in frustration at his transparent and idiotic attempt to scam me. His companion merely stared at the both of us in shock, a slight smile curling in his upper lip. Needless to say, he didn't expect this turn of events.
The pig-like man blinked and then muttered something along the lines of "it's okay" or "fine then" and the two of them drove off. As I dealt with the next customer, I thought to myself "Did this really happen again? Is this seriously a joke?"
Later, after the rush ended, I sat and ate an apple, reflecting on the stupidity of man and the fact that I present a rather intimidating presence to people sometimes. Needless to say, I now keep a knife taped under the register in the event things get serious. After all, you never know when you may need to skin an apple.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Karl
Karl came by today. He usually comes in on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. A rather stout fellow, with a full beard tinged with gray and glasses perched on his crooked nose, he resembled another innocuous, obese American seeking nourishment and food. However, he always is talkative and very genial.
He's a truck driver. He generally has to drive down three times a week. He also is a Vietnam war veteran, a former presidential candidate for 2008, and very much versed in the ways of the world.
Full of stories, he often talks about anything ranging from the inadequacies of the Republican Party to precious metal speculation. The war stories I found were most interesting, giving me a view into the American psyche during the Vietnam War. What's more entertaining are some of the anecdotal tales he has. Granted, he does talk for many hours on hand but it's generally interesting and fun. After all, life on the road is pretty mundane
Luckily, he also buys our pork rib plate and a large drink. So, cha-ching!
He's a truck driver. He generally has to drive down three times a week. He also is a Vietnam war veteran, a former presidential candidate for 2008, and very much versed in the ways of the world.
Full of stories, he often talks about anything ranging from the inadequacies of the Republican Party to precious metal speculation. The war stories I found were most interesting, giving me a view into the American psyche during the Vietnam War. What's more entertaining are some of the anecdotal tales he has. Granted, he does talk for many hours on hand but it's generally interesting and fun. After all, life on the road is pretty mundane
Luckily, he also buys our pork rib plate and a large drink. So, cha-ching!
Tales from the Pit - And now for something totally different!
Another day and another long, mind-numbing 12 hours of work. Sometimes it ebbs and flows like a river and other times it's as long and silent as solitary rock on the ground. Today was essentially like yesterday and the day before but not quite like tomorrow.
I know it was warm today, almost balmy like summer though the snow and ice reminded me otherwise. There were some notable meetings and interesting stories to be told, though nothing so as to drive me up against the wall.
Gluten Lady came by the drive-thru today. I remember her for the most singular request she made of me some weeks earlier when she first visited. She wore glasses and her golden brown hair was short, falling to her shoulders. She work a long black coat, wrapping herself in a plaid scarf. Her eyes were very alert yet entirely warm though I would have to disagree with the choice of the handbag. It was actually a bitterly cold day then in December.
"I'll take your beef and chicken plate. It doesn't have any wheat or soy, does it?"
"No, ma'am. We don't use either in our meats. It comes with bread though."
"No bread. I can't eat the bread."
"...Really? Are you allergic?"
"Well, no. I get this a lot. The thing is, I'm breastfeeding my son and he's probably gluten-intolerant because my mom and my aunt and my grandmother both couldn't eat bread..."
"Oooh, okay. I got it. No bread. But still...how can you get by in life without eating....CROISSANTS?!"
"OH! I know, right? I'm something of a baker but we always have to buy the gluten-free stuff for the kids. I can handle wheat and gluten well but it's just a precaution in case. I mean it's just the way you make croissants...you can't do it gluten-free."
"Oh, most definitely."
This time, she ordered the same thing as she pulled up in her lime-green Honda Cube. She did say she would come back and she did. So naturally, we're doing something right at least for one woman and her newborn child.
I know it was warm today, almost balmy like summer though the snow and ice reminded me otherwise. There were some notable meetings and interesting stories to be told, though nothing so as to drive me up against the wall.
Gluten Lady came by the drive-thru today. I remember her for the most singular request she made of me some weeks earlier when she first visited. She wore glasses and her golden brown hair was short, falling to her shoulders. She work a long black coat, wrapping herself in a plaid scarf. Her eyes were very alert yet entirely warm though I would have to disagree with the choice of the handbag. It was actually a bitterly cold day then in December.
"I'll take your beef and chicken plate. It doesn't have any wheat or soy, does it?"
"No, ma'am. We don't use either in our meats. It comes with bread though."
"No bread. I can't eat the bread."
"...Really? Are you allergic?"
"Well, no. I get this a lot. The thing is, I'm breastfeeding my son and he's probably gluten-intolerant because my mom and my aunt and my grandmother both couldn't eat bread..."
"Oooh, okay. I got it. No bread. But still...how can you get by in life without eating....CROISSANTS?!"
"OH! I know, right? I'm something of a baker but we always have to buy the gluten-free stuff for the kids. I can handle wheat and gluten well but it's just a precaution in case. I mean it's just the way you make croissants...you can't do it gluten-free."
"Oh, most definitely."
This time, she ordered the same thing as she pulled up in her lime-green Honda Cube. She did say she would come back and she did. So naturally, we're doing something right at least for one woman and her newborn child.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tales from the Pit - Pain or just plain crazy?
Earlier tonight, there was a customer who came back from a week ago. His mannerism and voice oddly reminded me of those prospectors who sought for gold during the 19th century mining eras and also from those films set in the Old West. I could tell that he worked for the city and judging by the state of his attire, I determined that he was likely a power plant worker. He was a wiry fellow, rather loud at times and possibly drinking beforehand
He came in, greeted me and proceeded to stare at the menu, his eyes furrowed in deep concentration. The dirt and grime on his eyebrows gave him the appearance of a orangutan who had just woken up. After resuming eye contact with me, he began his order.
"You guys sell ribs?"
"Yes, sir. We sell slabs and pork rib plates."
"You know, I'll take that rib plate of yours."
"All right, a number four it is."
"How many ribs do you get with that?"
"You get three ribs, sir."
"Only THREE ribs?!" He exclaimed, his face in disbelief.
I could easily tell that he felt that wasn't enough for him to eat. The plate came with 3 long end ribs, potato salad, beans, bread, pickles, onions, and BBQ sauce. It's a MEAL! He stared at the menu for 30 seconds and then stared at me, attempting to speak. Yet nothing came form his mouth really.
"Well, never mind. Thanks anyway." He walked out, muttering to himself something about "money" and "ribs."
The last time he came in was exactly like this. Only he got a menu the first time and walked out, only to come back later. We also had this exact same conversation over pork ribs as well yet that time, he decided to order something else. This time, he didn't. Needless to say, I couldn't really determine if I thought he was just mean or simply confusing.
He came in, greeted me and proceeded to stare at the menu, his eyes furrowed in deep concentration. The dirt and grime on his eyebrows gave him the appearance of a orangutan who had just woken up. After resuming eye contact with me, he began his order.
"You guys sell ribs?"
"Yes, sir. We sell slabs and pork rib plates."
"You know, I'll take that rib plate of yours."
"All right, a number four it is."
"How many ribs do you get with that?"
"You get three ribs, sir."
"Only THREE ribs?!" He exclaimed, his face in disbelief.
I could easily tell that he felt that wasn't enough for him to eat. The plate came with 3 long end ribs, potato salad, beans, bread, pickles, onions, and BBQ sauce. It's a MEAL! He stared at the menu for 30 seconds and then stared at me, attempting to speak. Yet nothing came form his mouth really.
"Well, never mind. Thanks anyway." He walked out, muttering to himself something about "money" and "ribs."
The last time he came in was exactly like this. Only he got a menu the first time and walked out, only to come back later. We also had this exact same conversation over pork ribs as well yet that time, he decided to order something else. This time, he didn't. Needless to say, I couldn't really determine if I thought he was just mean or simply confusing.
Tales from the Pit - You don't know catfish!
Yesterday, I got into a disagreement with an African-American customer with regards to the meaning of "fried catfish." Needless to say, it was one of the weirdest and most ridiculous arguments I had ever heard. It went down like this.
The woman ordered a catfish basket and proceed to sit down and eat with her boyfriend. At least, I assume he was her boyfriend, judging by the extent of their physical closeness and the lack of a ring on their fingers. If they were cheating, there was a lack of tremor in their voices or any sort of visceral reaction when I mentioned that her boyfriend ordered a grilled chicken salad.
After less than five minutes eating, she came up to the counter carrying her catfish as I was finishing up an order for another customer.
"Excuse, this catfish is too hard."
"Ma'am, it's fried catfish. It's breaded so we had to fry it for several minutes so it would be done."
"Yeah, but it's too hard for me to eat.It's not soft enough..."
"...Would you like to get something else or a refund?"
"I'll take the refund."
I'm pretty sure fried food has to be fried so the texture of the fish must change in order to properly undergo a catalytic reaction with the frying oil. For the record, most people have loved and enjoyed the catfish baskets we offer. A few handful would beg to differ.
WTF.
The woman ordered a catfish basket and proceed to sit down and eat with her boyfriend. At least, I assume he was her boyfriend, judging by the extent of their physical closeness and the lack of a ring on their fingers. If they were cheating, there was a lack of tremor in their voices or any sort of visceral reaction when I mentioned that her boyfriend ordered a grilled chicken salad.
After less than five minutes eating, she came up to the counter carrying her catfish as I was finishing up an order for another customer.
"Excuse, this catfish is too hard."
"Ma'am, it's fried catfish. It's breaded so we had to fry it for several minutes so it would be done."
"Yeah, but it's too hard for me to eat.It's not soft enough..."
"...Would you like to get something else or a refund?"
"I'll take the refund."
I'm pretty sure fried food has to be fried so the texture of the fish must change in order to properly undergo a catalytic reaction with the frying oil. For the record, most people have loved and enjoyed the catfish baskets we offer. A few handful would beg to differ.
WTF.
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