Monday, 28 May 2007

Life is all about choices, so choose wisely.


Chocolate Willy
"Waiter, do they cum with cream?"

Bank holiday weekends, what a joy! They are much the same as any other weekend but with a few slight differences, people are slightly giddier on the Friday, and practically out of their minds with joy come 8pm on Sunday night. This contrasts sharply with the usual Sunday "feeling", the one that has them in tears as they have to leave the bar, go home and lay out their clothes for work on Monday morning. The few that stay on after 8pm end up performing the "I've got a terrible cold" phone call to the boss at half eight on the Monday morning. Obviously none of this applies to those with children, who instead of going out on a 3 day bender like their single co-workers, have the "joy" of spending an extra day reacquainting themselves with the kids. Bless.

This, for me, is the pishiest Bank Holiday of all. It's hard to predict what's going to happen. And I am not a fan of surprises. I like my booking sheets full and my customers on time. This being a Bank Holiday and not a public holiday it lacks the full force mayhem of the Mayday Holiday. And that is the way it turned out. As I had been paid on Friday my need for the cash was reduced and as a consequence of such my charm levels were dropped by a grovel or two. I'm still knackered though so here is Manuel's weekend in pictures.

Friday
Now that was a good shift. The fact that I knew my bank account was bulging, the redistribution of funds doesn't take place until Friday (rent etc), meant that I had a much more relaxed attitude to serving the masses.



this happened not once,
not twice,
but three times on Friday night.


But I stayed cool and laughed it off. People were dropping and spilling like it was a cool new fad. I was running round with club soda and salt assuring worried ladies, and it was without exception ladies, that the stain would come out. The only exception being the pint of Guinness that went for a wobble covering both the lady and the gent. There is nowt you can do there. Silly moo, as Little Miss Manuel would say.

Saturday
As the only chap that works on the floor in the restaurant I get first preference when it comes to serving hen parties. It makes financial sense. Women tip male waiters better than female waiters. I don't like the word waitress, and rarely use it. It's as annoying as manageress. Male customers look at male waiters as being Gay, and female customers view female staff as being whores. It's a fact. But Saturday offered the unique joy that is not one, but two hen parties. I opted for the one that was booked in our private room. They were an organised group and had left in a box of decorations, (embarrassing pictures, silly signs, chocolate penis "treats") along with instructions. Plus they were booked earlier than the other so that meant finishing earlier. Wrong choice...

I got a table of these




a fellow co-worker got these!
I swear it was like the cast of a Russ Meyer movie


Yes, I got the hen party from hell, complete with drunken hen, overbearing mother, and Mrs "I've-got-my-own-drink-in-my-bag-and-I'm-gonna-drink-it". AAAAAAARRRGGGHHH! I would have been okay if I hadn't seen the Amazonian table in the restaurant. But cherry on the cake? The bit that sent me over the edge? THEY WERE TEACHERS! I should have guessed when I got instructions on how to put up the decorations. The lady who brought her own booze changed from an amusing and enjoyable person to serve to an utter moo cow when I confiscated her hooch. The hen and her Gay friend went for a smoke as I served their main course. This caused ructions amongst some of the group as they didn't return for twenty bloody minutes. They paid their bill with elevated service charge and fucked off. I went back to the main restaurant to help out with the other hen party. I'm just that sort of chap you understand, helpful.

Sunday
Sunday night was tourist night. I assume the native population of Belfast had nicked off to some desolate seaside "resort" for the day. There were some...


Dutch "yesh, I'll have the shalmon"


Spiffing, "Tip? We English don't tip when in the Colonies"


Lovely Americans. God I love them and their wonderful tipping.
30%, that's were the magic is!

Monday
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, it got busy for a bit then zzzzzzzzzzzzzz



I was bored out of my skin

Not such a weekend in picture more of a weekend in pictures with subtitles. And whats with "Bank" Holidays anyway? Where's my Waiter Holiday? You would here some crying if that ever happened. The whole fabric of society would collapse as people had to make and serve their own food. We are the glue people, the glue that holds the whole thing together. Don't ever forget that...

19 People trying to get Manuel's attention:

Old Knudsen said...

I think male waiters are ghey hoors, are you one of them lads that don't say actress? Its actor/actress, policeman/woman, bit of rough/mistress and conman/woman. We just say 'female' waiter if we have a story to tell anyway, hardly advancing equality. I'll tell ya whats funny, a male nurse.

Manuel said...

Go to bed you old duffer or is it dufferess?

Kav said...

It's the toast landing butter side down syndrome, isn't it? I have that every single day. When I first started here, I had a chance to work with attractive women, or a load of sweaty men. I chose the men, thinking of the better career opportunities what they did would get me. Sigh.

Fat Sparrow said...

I would have rather been called "waitress" than what I usually got, which was "sweetie," "honey," "cutie," or just fingers snapped at me. And yet, strangely enough, it was still better than working in sales with men. What a collection of cunts.

Conortje said...

They didn't try and pinch your bottom did they?

Manuel said...

Kav: Why would you do that? Why?

fat sparrow: bloggeress?

conortje: No, that alone left me paranoid...

Medbh said...

She brought booze to a restaurant? I thought only broke teenagers did that.
Tacky.
I've never been to a hen party and I don't think I've missed anything.

fatmammycat said...

Fuck, I worked in sales too, it was nine million times worse than working in a bar. I do love that photo of Amanda and the bride, aces.

Manuel said...

medbh: Yes she did and she wasn't discreet about it. She lifted the empty bottle of wine that I brought out of the cooler and just replaced it with one from her bag. Of course I spotted it as I was going round topping up wine glasses.

Fmc: Hyperbole! I bet you ten million pounds that working in a restaurant is worse, much worse.

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

When my father's visiting out here he goes round calling all the ladies "dear", and referring to "wee wifeys" all the time.

Several women in a bar we sometimes go to when he's here, have tried to get him to use more modern terminology like, "woman" or "person" but he can't see what difference it makes. "But she is a wee wifey," he'll say all puzzled and order another round. "Ach, it's jsut a load of daftness." They've all given him up as an old unreconstructed Scot but it doesn't stop the old ghouls trying to get into his briefs. There is a sort of single Californian women of a certain age who will gather like turkey-vultures around any single man over 50 whether he's out for a quiet drink with his daughter or not. Bleugh!

Hard luck on the babe-table. It sounds like there might have been ghoul types similar to the Californian ones I was on about at teacher hen table.

savannah said...

everyone should work food & beverage or at least ONE service industry job during their lifetime...

Enda P said...

Hmm, sometimes I wish would people would pinch my bottom at work, but all of my colleagues are ladies and they tend to behave themselves.

Thanks for the linkage; the feeling is mutual.

ellie said...

There, there, there! Don't fret there isnt another bank holiday for a while.
Would have been disgraced to be with the hen party, bringing your own drink out in your handbag is such a no no.

whyioughtta said...

Hello Manuel, I'm doing something new here: I'm commenting BEFORE I've read the post. But based on that first picture alone, I WILL be reading it. Oh yes I will indeed. Going to pour myself a glass of wine right now...

Manuel said...

Sam: Dad's eh, who'd have em? Theres another booked for this Saturday and I aint doin it, no way Jose. Not a chance. Well maybe, I might. I'll see...

Savannah: Like conscription...

Enda P: Its best avoided, bottom touching at work. Can only lead to tears. Not always of sadness either.

Ellie: And what a bank holiday it is too! Thank fook I shall be Madrid with LMM!

WIO: mmmmmmmm no post reading response. That cant be good.

Manuel said...

By the way LMM if you are reading this I only have eyes for you....

whyioughtta said...

Noooo...I just had to leave it til morning...it's late here when it's early there, don't forget. Also vice-versa.

I have been at one of those hen parties with the Ornery Self-Stocked Liquor Cabinet in Heels...so not fun for anyone--waiter, hens, the public at large. As I recall, I spent the last half of that evening holding Ms. Ornery's head up over a toilet bowl so she wouldn't drown herself. That was after she threatened to shoot a bouncer.

I find your take on "waitress" very interesting. Henceforth, everyone's a "waiter" to me.

Manuel said...

WIO: I was upset all day!

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