The Time of Judgment be upon us....Crikey!

The wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, well read, charismatic, funny and all round good eggs from the Irish Blog Awards (that'll do darling-LMM) are now inviting nominations for this years awards. Different format this year as the winners will be decided by a panel of judges as opposed to a popularity vote. I wonder who the judges could be......[wavy dream lines]

Judging Panel A - Judges from 2000AD

1. Judge Dread - firm but fair - likes well organised blogs with tidy sidebars and that follow a strict adherence to blogging etiquette such as linking back and despises multiple personalities. Catchphrase, "I am the law....on all things related to Wordpress and Blogger blog systems. But not Typepad." Catchy....
   
2. Judge Judy Janus - being a psychic she probably knows the results already - tends to favour blogs about horoscopes and earth stones and other such keek. Catchphrase, "I knew you were going to write that."
   
3. Judge Death - no sense of humour being dead and all - but is known to enjoy the musings of Twenty Major and Old Bitter Balls - also known to really enjoy stories from Iraq which he thinks are just hilarious. Catchphrase, "Deeeeeaaaaaatttthhh to bad blogs...."

Judging Panel B - Judges off the TV

1. Judge John Deed - Former Professional turned Judge, big fan of the ladies and would tend to throw his weight, and anything else, behind blogs by the ladies. But he would probably upset the people from the Irish Blog Awards as Judge John Deed plays by his own rules, a rebel with a wig and gown. Catchphrase, "I find you guilty....guilty of being sexy." This got him into trouble when he judged this years small dog's section at Crufts.
   
2. Judge Judy (didn't see that coming eh!) - Takes a no nonsense approach to judging - favours blogs that, like herself, are plain speaking and that didn't have an affair or run out the day the baby was born. Beware, if you put your blog in front of her to be judged you might end up paying half of your hits to the eventual winner in blog alimony. Catchphrase, "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's a blog."
   
3. Judge Reinhold - Also known as Billy - he is a nice guy, this makes it very difficult for him to make a fucking decision, and he falls down a lot - being a born again (wasn't once enough?) Christian, Billy takes a dim view of blogs with any nakedness, swearing, blaspheming, evolution, drink and drug references, music other than the God rock of Resurrection, books other than the bible, derogatory remarks about GWB, questioning of the War on Terra, and anything related to Richard Dawkins. All things considered he probably shouldn't get involved. Catchphrase, "Only God can judge you on the last day blah blah blah....."
   

Judging Panel C Various Types of Teenagers

1. Emo/Goth Kids - They were actually a surprise hit at this years Ireland's Beautiful Baby Contest and helped sway the panel towards the 3 year old with the cross eyes and three giant freckles. They tend to favour blogs on the darker side of life. The actually wanted to vote The Samaritans website as last years winner but withdrew that idea when they were convinced it wasn't a blog. Catchphrase, "What's the point, no but really, what's the point?
2. Indie Kids - They were they first person to read your blog, and stopped when it became popular. They are always on the cutting edge, not like the Emo/Goth kids who are actually on the edge of cutting........themselves. The Indie kids prefer blogs left of centre and despise the populist blogs. And if their mum's read it, then there is no chance of them voting for you. Catchphrase, "Like that was so last year/I read that when he had only 5 hits."
3. Ned's/Scallies/Spides/Knackers - They probably wont take part and will just rob the bowl of fruit, do your pockets, steal your lap top, and beat you up for money for Buckfast. And beware if they do vote you as winner make sure you leave somebody in your house when you go to get your award as they will know you're out and will come round and do your house over. Catchphrase, "Blog? Are you a fruit or wah?"

Or of course they could just be well respected members of the community who have donated their time to judge this years award, but secretly I hope its Judging Panel A......

Manuel and the sorely deluded lady.....

me

A lady touched my bottom on Friday night. There I've said it. It's good to get that out, to admit it, to start dealing with it.

It wasn't as a result of a swinging arm, leaving us both embarrassed and apologising at the same time. She hadn't mistaken it for a comfortable cushion that she wanted to rest against. She hadn't mistaken me for her boyfriend or Brad Pitt or someone else.

No she meant to do it, and she meant to do it to me.

She purposely reached down and helped herself to a slice of Manuel's sugarloaf. She did it in the way people do when they are checking to see how fresh melons are in the supermarket. If she had bent down to sniff it I would have reacted quite badly. She took a big healthy pinch/grab of my bum. I'm not sure she meant to get as much of it as she had planned but there you go. If you set out to grab a slice you need to be prepared to get a big helping. (Am I still talking about my arse? I'm lost)

Crikey!

It has to be said I didn't react well.

She had wandered over to me as I was hovering around the register pretending to do something and chatting with one of the overlords. She wanted to thank me for a great night and all that sort of stuff. She stepped right into my personal space thanked me, and then....well you know what she did, lets not go over it again. I instantly went red. I could feel my face burning in seconds. She lingered there for a moment. I think she was waiting for me to react, and react I did. I got the hell out of there. I moved quick sharpish round behind the bar area. I figured I was safe with a whole bar between us. I'm not sure this is the reaction she was looking for. Hell I'm not sure what she wanted at all.

You see folks I'm not used to being touched up by attractive women. Not including Little Miss Manuel who has free reign when it comes to my bottom. I feel much more at home with 40 and 50 year old women. I know how to flirt with them and it just be harmless fun. It's what waiters are expected to do. For example tonight I was kissed twice and man handle once by three women well into their 50's, and it didn't make me go a bit red! But younger women are not my territory at all. And I'm not normally on the radar of younger women either. So it all came as a shock it has to be said.

After I had done my little shimmy round the bar away from the clutches of the bum toucher I started babbling and was practically incoherent. I think she lost interest at this point and realised I was just a big fat fakey flirt. She said a final thanks and goodbye. I stood there for a moment until my face had returned to it's usual peaky colour and then ran to the kitchen to share my news with MEN. I knew they would appreciate it. All I got was , "Drunk was she?"

Bubble bursting bastards. LMM wasn't too taken either with my ass grabbing news either....

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

I very rarely want to hug a customer, but tonight I wanted to hug a customer and tell them everything was going to be okay. I wanted to take their pain away. I wanted to make sure they didn't do anything silly. Let me tell you the saddest Christmas story ever.

A young lady had booked part of the building to host her birthday party. The room had been reserved months in advance. She had secured the services of two "cool" DJ's. She assured the management that the night would be a big one. The place was to be teaming with people. We were to expect anywhere between 150 and 200 happy revelers. The bar was stocked, extra supplies were at hand too, should the expected numbers arrive.

The troops were in position, the DJ's had set up, the birthday girl looked a peach in her birthday suit.....of jeans and sleeveless top. She was ready to welcome her guests. The bar staff were ready to welcome her guests. The doormen were ready to ogle her guests, sorry I mean open the door for her guests. All was in place for a fantastic night to celebrate the day 20 something years ago when the gracious host was brought into this world. All we needed now where the party guests.

They never came.

Well that's not strictly true. There were 6 when I left at 11pm, but that did include the birthday girl and the DJ's. OUCH, that has to be a blow to the old self esteem. Actually it's more than that isn't it? It's worse than an actual kick in the teeth. Harder to swallow than a bag of badgers. Man that's gotta leave you reaching for the whiskey and vicodin. Saying that it left the bar staff with grins from ear to ear as they rock, paper, and scissored to see who was going home early. Silver linings and all that.....

What you need in times like this is a service to ease the pain......and make your party look good. Some sort of rent-a-friend service. I've been thinking about it since I got home. There are solutions for most of lives little problems so why not for bad parties?

solutions and logistics?
it must be good!

At 20 minutes notice my service will flood your party with drunk, or sober, revelers for a simple fee starting at £1000.00 plus bar expenses. We will also provide presents (at extra cost), photographs (first 10 free and then £15.00 per ten thereafter, celebrities can be photoshopped in, call for quote). We will also text and phone you during office hours to thank you for throwing such a great party thus adding to the illusion. No significant other to share your birthday, work promotion, religious occasion, house warming? Don't fret, rent-a-friend has you covered. With our premium "parent blocker" package we will provide you with someone to pose in all photographs with you, hold your hand all night, say nice things about you to your parents, and be there for you all night (sex not included or offered).

So take the trauma out of your next birthday dial 0800n-o-m-o-r-e-l-o-n-e-l-y-n-i-g-h-t-s and let rent-a-friend give you the party you deserve. And you do deserve it.....

Valid if you are 7, idiotic otherwise.....

Some people have too much time on their hands and little to be worrying about. I don't mean bloggers, we are vital and important and pioneers of the new media. Or maybe not. But honestly some people must really be living charmed and easy lives. A friend, who must remain nameless but lets call him Percy, works for the BBC. He answers viewers questions regarding BBC programmes. Important stuff like, where did Dot Cotton get her blouse from? And is Matthew Amroliwala married?

Seriously?

What?

Is there nothing else going on in your life?

Now don't get me wrong there is nothing wrong with a bit trivia, it cant all be global warming and debating the Middle East situation. But for someone to be bothered to get off their arse, search for the appropriate phone number, dial said number, ask ridiculous question and wait for the answer boggles the mind. He has been swamped with idiots viewers asking about the new BBC ident showing penguins ice skating. And what is it that is keeping the nation awake? What aspect of the trailer is bugging the viewers the most? Let me tell you dear readers, the question that is keeping Percy in a job and that has taken up more of his time than anything else recently is.....Are the penguins real?

That would be these penguins here, the ones ice skating, trying to get stuff from the vending machine, and pirouetting on the ice.

Are they real? Are you fucking real? Are you toot tooting on the crack pipe? Unless you are 7 years old that is not a valid question for anyone to ask. It's a bloody good job I don't work with Percy. The first few phone calls would be amusing but after that I don't think I could hold back from patronising the hell out of them. And laughing at them. I'd be laughing loud and sneering too. Laughing, sneering, and patronising.....well I am a waiter, what would you expect? Oh and I would definitely start lying to them. "Oh yes sir, the penguins are real. We got the people from Disney to train them. But we had to shoot them after as we couldn't release them back into the wild."

So just to save our Percy from any more ridiculous questions let me clear up a few things...

1. The penguins in the video are not real. They were created on a computer.
2. The dinosaurs from Jurassic Park, also not real and also created on a computer.
3. Matthew Amroliwala is real, and is married with four children.
4. I have no idea where dot Cotton gets her blouses from, but any charity shop should be a good bet.
5. Gary Lineker is also real but his tan is fake, probably St Tropez.
6. Jeremy Paxman, not real, and was also created on a computer, probably by NASA.

This is where the license fee goes people...........think about that when you have to renew.....

There will be more from Percy, he is a never ending source of blog gold, which is better than actual gold.....

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends

threadless

It wasn't a bad year for music. Not the greatest but not bad all the same. Some people should have called it quits, I'm looking at you Billy Gorgan, and you Interpol people should have red faces too. Both managed to produce albums so weak they barely registered as music. Both c.d.'s are being used as coasters now. Arcade Fire didn't fail to deliver though with the great Neon Bible and The Kings of Leon managed to produce the album they probably wanted to make 3 years ago, Because of the Times is a gem. Here are the top Ten Albums of the Year. All other lists are wrong....

List Number 3 - Albums of the Year

1. Boxer - The National. This is just such a great album I struggle to find the words to do it justice. Interpol take note, this what you want to sound like but never ever will. Apartment Story, Mistaken for Strangers and Start a War are just such well crafted songs. Get it done people, get it done. Album of the year for me by a country mile. The rest of the list is in no particular order
   
2. Mirrored - Battles. If you haven't heard Atlas then you are missing one of the tunes of the year.
3. 595 - Karate. Karate split up in 2005 before I got the chance to see then live, which was a huge great big fucking stinker. 595 is a live album and well worth a listen if you like your post rock with a jazzy edge to it, and like me you never got the chance to see them live, I thoroughly recommend this album.
4. Neon Bible - Arcade Fire. I love this album. Art school rock at it's very best. I refused to buy it when it came out as the rest of the world swooned over it and went all gushy. If the rest of the world loves it it cant be good I reasoned. But for once the rest of the world was indeed right. Favourite track being Intervention.
5. Sky Blue Sky - Wilco. I'm a rather late convert to Wilco. They are pigeon holed as alt-country/Americana but they are so much more as proved on Sky Blue Sky. Try Either Way and just sit back, beautiful music.....
6. We Have Control - Alloy Mental. I'm not normally a fan of dance music, but then again this isn't really dance music. It's, as the name implies, mental. It's rock for the rock fans and dance for the dance fans. Mr Shouty Shouty, Martin Corrigan, snarls, bites, and screams his way through track after track of pure caffeine. Gotta Love and God is Green are required listening, especially if you need to beat something. We have Control is the soundtrack for a riot, if a riot needs a soundtrack.....
7. Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon - Devendra Banhart. On Last.fm Banhart is described as an, "Avant folk singer-song writer" which is enough to put anybody off. But it really is the best description of what he does. This album is another gem. Rose is a particularly sweet little track, all piano and haunting vocals.But for a perfect example of what Mr Banhart does best try the 8 minute long Seahorse......a beard twirling gem....
8. Because of the Times - Kings of Leon. Ah Leon's boys are all grown up and playing grown up rock n roll. This is the album I wasn't sure they had in them. Less poppy than the albums that preceded it and for once they have produced tunes with more of an edge. Try Charmer as an example.
9. Grinderman - Grinderman. Nick Cave is the best thing to emanate from Australia, ever. This is a dirty, sleazy, guitar album, low slung guitars at that. If I had to pick a second favourite album of the year then this is it. It appears soaked in hard liquor, and as the result of a 10 day drink, drugs, and Marlboro Red binge. No Pussy Blues, Electric Alice and Honey Bee are well worth a listen.
10. Marry Me - St. Vincent. Such a sweet and beautiful album. Think Tori Amos mixed with Regina Spektor and you're there. I love this album, it meanders and soars and runs around your brain like a child at play. Try Paris is Burning, Marry Me, and Jesus Saves I spend. Beautiful.....

These are the best albums of 2007. Unless of course I have forgotten something, which is possible but unlikely.

YouTubes of the top ten....
The National
Battles
Karate
Arcade Fire
Alloy Mental
Devendra Banhart
Grinderman
St. Vincent

And the award goes to.........

I'm a huge great big fan of end of year lists and reviews and that sort of thing. It's quite nerdy, but there you go. So I'll be shoving a few lists under your nose's over the next few days much like TV news shows do at this time of the year when they have time to fill but have no actual news to fill it with.

List Number 1 - Customer Comment/Question of the Year

Ah the things that customers say never fail to surprise/shock/offend/frighten me. Seriously people please think before you speak. Engage your brain, try and run the conversation through your smarts filter before you commit to wasting energy and breath. The top 5 comments/questions of the year are,

1. "Look at theese" he said pointing out the label. "Theese numbers mean eet is full of cow sheets." (He was French) If you are going to ridicule and make grand political speeches about the evils of the Coca-Cola Empire then you may as well make it to an executive of that company. Not that I knew it at the time.
2. "Oh good your local!" Exclaimed suburban Nazi lady
3. "IT'S RUINED. IT TASTES OF NOTHING BUT VINEGAR" roared the man who had just soaked his pan fried liver in eh um er vinegar.
   
4. "Women? Sure I'm a man. You wanna see 'it'?" asked the man in the lovely white trousers, open toed white shoes sporting an orange blouse, blonde flowing hair, hands like shovels and the voice of a JCB digger.
5. "You've missed a bit." I love it when customers try to help. Missed a bit did I? Here's yer bill." Now fuck right off......

List Number 2 - Are you for real? Seriously, are you for real?
(mouth breathers of the year)

Some people shouldn't be allowed out in public unsupervised let alone allowed to to dirty up my restaurant with their low grade DNA. These were my least favourite guests of the year. I call them guests but that's like calling a steaming pile of dog mess chocolate.

1. Fat man and Thumb stubber. I suppose I should be thanking them in a way as they are the pair of cretins that finally pushed me over the edge and "inspired" me to start the blog. But fuck them both, again and again and again. And not in a good way either.
2. Mrs Cuntish Bastard. I hate you so much. She actually phoned and suggested to the management that I not be allowed to serve her. Like you should be so lucky to get me.
   
3. Slovenly McGinBreath. Oh I double hate you. Don't ever try to lie to me or ever try to do a runner. I will catch you and make you pay.....your bill.
4. Kids eh? Don't know they're born. This was the heart warming story of the teenager who ran out on her mum whilst out to celebrate their birthdays.
   
5. Suburban Nazi lady her chap (again)

More tomorrow........

The Night Before the Waiters Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house(restaurant);

Not a creature(waiter) was stirring, not even a mouse
(Environmental health policies being what they are the mouse was in fact dead)

The stockings (tip jar) were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas (Rich American tourist) soon would be there;

The children (young waiters) were nestled all snug in their beds (drunk and alone save for a bottle of Bombay Spice),
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads
(sugar plums is the name of the nice young lady from the lap dancing club);

And mamma (LMM) in her 'kerchief (page 37 of the Victoria Secrets catalogue,wink), and I in my cap (leopard print thong),
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap (nap? I don't think so),

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.(next doors cat or a drunk chef?)

Away to the window I flew like a flash (flash being the best word as the leopard print thong had been discarded some time ago),
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
(Old Knudsen's)
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
(actually it was dirty students lost on their way home from the Bot)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
("here boyos lets pish on that there wall")

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
(Sean, Seamie, Ger, PJ, Cahal, Dermie, Marty, and Big Francie)

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
(the dirty red neck students with bags of buckfast and
mad dog 20/20 tried to climb onto my roof)

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.(dancing and singing the Fairy Tale of New York the bastards were!)

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas (Seamie) came with a bound.
(and a bottle of buckie)

He was dressed all in fur (Tyrone GAA Top and tinsel), from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, (presents for his sister, Assumpta's, kids)
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
(he looked like a dirty drunk student!)

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
(he was pished and couldn't focus properly and looked like a right dick)

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; (coke)

The stump of a (crack) pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
(hallucinating on a combination of coke, crack and Buckfast
Seamie was seeing what he thought was Peter Griffin from Family Guy)

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
(no he wasn't, he was a skinny little get)

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
(well how often do coked up students fall down your chimney?)

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
("alright der big lad? Jaysus I'm fucking steaming hey")

He spoke not a(nother) word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
(he had little Seamie out and was trying to pee!)

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
(trapped coke I assume)

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
(well he tried but I showed him the door)

He sprang to his sleigh (awaiting taxi), to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
(Jaysus lads did ye see me in that there house?)

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
(yelling out the window of the Ford Mondeo)

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Which was nice.....

Merry Christmas to everyone from Manuel
(and remember a waiter is for life not just for Christmas)

It's over

another Christmas season draws to an end with Manuel asking
"Who will rub my feet, who?"

I have to say, without fear of contradiction, this was the best Christmas I have worked yet. Better than last year, and it was a gem too. The year before that was not gem like at all. It was hell in a Santa suit. But this year was just great. I define a great Christmas at work as being one that is financially rewarding, one that leaves me with few physical scars, no new mental scars, and when all the guests had a great time. Oh and that's in order of importance to me. But what was also very pleasing for me was that I managed to continue churning out posts on here despite being sore, tired, sweaty, hungry and quite often barely able to find the strength to switch the bloody mac on when I got home. It's quantity that counts folks, not quality, quantity. Just ask Old Knudsen.

Saying that I still think the most ball busting season of the year deserves one more final posting before i can put it out of my mind for another 3 months, when planning for December 08 begins. So here is the WellDoneFillet review of Christmas in a handy section I call...

The WellDoneFillet Christmas Review

The Numbers

The number of Christmas Criers I had to endure/laugh at was 5 and that's a marked reduction on last years cry-fest. This years Christmas Criers were as a result of too much to drink and the emotion of the season and because the "men" at one table made jokes about one of their work colleagues large breasts. Nice one guys, you made someone cry, feeling good? What next candy from a baby? Kick a dog? I didn't laugh at that crier.

Mentalists were thin on the ground this year too. There must be a link between criers and mentalists. There were only 2 proper mentalists on show this year, this dick that I wrote about earlier who made his girlfriend cry and the lady who showed up ten minutes before her party was due to get moved on and demanded we serve her the salmon she had ordered. We did indeed serve her the requested salmon, under protest it should be added, which she then spilt her glass of coke all over. That made my night.

The number of members of parliament booked for Christmas dinner was 6. The number that turned up was zero. Despite the great and the good from the Northern Ireland Assembly being booked for dinner, despite being sworn to secrecy, and despite laughable security checks none of the bastards showed up! I was left with a table of mid ranking civil servants, they were very nice people and a joy to serve but I had a host of one liners prepared and a greeting to welcome then in both Irish and Ulster Scots. It all appeared to be Ian Paisley Jnr's fault. His empty seat was photographed by most of the guests and sent via text message to him. Huh that'll teach him....(I think I may have over egged this story earlier)

The number of members of staff who have resigned during December is currently 3. I say currently as I know of at least 1 more that is planned and New Years Eve always tests the reliability and resolve of the weak. It's hard to do at the best of times but if your hearts not in it....The Princess resigned too. She's moving on to a "proper" job. The waiter known as Crazy Paving has also resigned. She was a great waiter, and I'm going to miss working with her and The Princess. Emo Bar girl also jacked it in saying she wanted a normal life. Stop being Emo then. She brought her own special uniqueness to the job. Sometimes she was fun, well maybe fun is abut strong, but mostly she was just very very Emo. Customer - "Hello can I have a pint of beer please?" Emo Bar Girl - "Yeah but what's the point? What about me?" I'll miss them all. Fucking young ones these days with their ambition! None of that in my day.

And the best number of all? £2120.00 or there abouts. Loverly Jubberly.....but shhhhh don't tell the taxman......

Awards

The Waiters Dream Table Award goes to the good people from the CSA who managed to inhale their 4 courses in an almost unbelievable 75 minutes. Never before have the rules of EAT PAY TIP LEAVE been so well adhered to. There will always be a table ready for you guys.

The Ebenezer Scrooge Award is normally a hotly contested award with many tables vying for this accolade. But this year I had only two tables to choose from. In the end it wasn't this lovely table up for a night in the big city from one of our hick redneck provincial towns. Instead it was Saturday night's table who were also from the bible belt heartland of Ulster. I swear to God getting money out of these people is harder than convincing them we are all descended from monkeys. They want to barter with you about the price and tell you about their local that serves twice as much food for half the price. Well fuck off back their and stay there. Once they remembered that they didn't have to pay the service charge that was it. They took up a half arsed collection in a wine glass that was more insulting than a tip. God apparently works in mysterious ways, but Manuel's ways are stranger still and they should by now be suffering a karmic reaction.....

Award for Chef of the Season goes to "Spud". He was a walking disaster zone. When he was sent to the shop to get much needed bread he came back with McDonalds. When he threw a big huff and walked out he ended up walking back in again 3 minutes later, leading to accusations that he couldn't even do that right. And he nearly killed himself on Friday when he managed to throw the kettle of soup all over himself. Genius.....

Customer comment of the month award is shared between the lady who complained, "There's no chicken in the Caesar Salad." (The Caesar Salad doesn't come with chicken, d'uh) and the lady who assured me she was having the Chocolate Cake for dessert when there was no chocolate cake on the menu. Even when I brought her the menu she still insisted that it was there and that I, "must have switched the menu." Jesus wept....

The Timex Award for Timekeeping goes to an accountancy firm. They were late by 8 whole days. Despite paying a deposit with the time and date marked on it, despite being phoned the day before, despite ordering in advance, they still managed to get the whole thing wrong. Tremendous. Not sure if that is better or worse than last year award winners, a local school. They were booked for the 5pm to 7pm sitting. They arrived at.......6.55pm as they thought they were booked for 5 to 7. D'oh.......

There were other things.....other stories.....other comments made....other wrongs committed but this christmas was great. The kitchen boys were great, the management didn't let us down, the guests for the most part were fun, on time, and generous. And everybody had a good time and after all that's what it's all about......no it's not, it's about the cash and it was simply superb.

Thanks to....
The Princess
The Chops
Crazy Paving
Psycho
The Original Psycho
The Glorious Leader
and The Cooker Jockey's Upstairs

Lets do it again sometime........

Blair converts to Catholicism

this is my first confession....
well Father there was Iraq and the NHS and cash for honours and and and

Welcome to the club n that Tony. Don't forget to pick up your crushing guilt and terrible feeling of self worth with your membership card. But hey it's not all bad, you can go to confession and be absolved of all your sins! Hey how good is that Tony!? Not that I'm saying Tony Blair has a lot of sins to confess but you know.....Iraq....dead people....bad decisions....corruption. Well it's between Tony and his priest now. Any way Tony don't let the guilt get you down, just push it into a tiny little ball until it becomes an ulcer. That's what the rest of us do. And finally if it doesn't work out just become lapsed. That's what most of us do.....

My well of patience is running dry...

I said, "who's having the fucking turkey and fucking ham?"

...and someone is gonna get smacked real fucking hard. I'm pretty much at the end of my tether folks. Today was a tough one. It wasn't that it was super busy, it's just that I'm tired. The Princess is tired. The two waiters known lovingly as "the chops" are tired. And when you have four tired waiters you get bumping and banging and knocking into each other. In normal times this is hardly noticed, but during the final death throws of Christmas every little bump is taken personally. Every time someone pushes in front of you to get to the coffee machine it's an insult. If someone causes you even a moments delay you get angry and sweary.

The Princess and I were like this most of the day right from when I arrived. Every remark was taken personally even simple things like,

"Is table 10 set?"

"Of course table fucking ten is set. What the fuck? Why wouldn't I have set table ten?"

And on it continued.

"Do you want a hand with those coffees?"

"I can get my own coffee....." followed up with some muttering under breath which was muttered loud enough for the other person to hear that something was muttered but not loud enough to hear what was actually muttered. Which of course lead to more muttering and swearing.

This was not one of our finest days.

The customers got to share in our lively floor show too.

"And Manuel has your jug of milk." said The Princess as we served a table their coffees.

"No I don't."

"No sorry madam, Manuel hasn't got your jug of milk." She shot me a nasty little huffy look.

"You never asked Manuel to bring a jug of milk." I replied.

" Didn't I? Well we are serving coffee. The ladies probably would like some milk for their coffee."

"Well I'll get them some shall I? You take a little break then."

"Oh don't worry I'll get the milk. You will probably forget."

All this was carried out at the table whilst we served the coffee. Fawlty Towers wouldn't have a look in. And the customers seemed more retarded and stupider than normal today. Or maybe it's just that my tolerance has finally run out.

"And who is having the Turkey & Ham?"

Now that seems like a fairly straight forward question. If you are having the turkey and ham all you need to do is indicate to the waiter holding three fucking scalding hot plates that you are having turkey and fucking ham. I don't want to hear,

"I'm having salmon."

Salmon? Who mentioned salmon? I didn't mention salmon. Did I say I had salmon? NO I FUCKING DIDN'T. Now who is having the fucking turkey and fucking ham?

And then you get the morons who cant remember what they ordered. Jesus wept. How fucking difficult is it to remember what you ordered? How can you forget? I wanna smash the fucking plates on their tiny stupid forgetful heads. They'd remember that.

No it would be fair to say today wasn't fun. And if I'm being honest I probably wasn't being all I can be either. None of us were. But today is the last big day of Christmas service. The mood will be much more jovial tomorrow. The general theme will be, "Fuck it, it's the last day." Saying that we have about a hundred booked for Saturday. Wouldn't want to be them. Not one waiter will care by then. Last day of school sort of attitude by then. I may not even wash properly.....

There were two moments of amusement though. The first being a new record for the restaurant when a table of 19 from the CSA managed to down four courses in a whopping 1 hour and fifteen minutes. That's what I call eating. Bravo. I think their minds were more set on drinking than eating. And when asked by the table of 15 deaf mutes to take a photo for them I naturally agreed. I got them all lined up and looking great. Just before I pushed the shutter I shouted, "Say Merry Christmas" to which there was no response. So I said it again. Then I remembered........good grief......how dumb did I feel. But at least I went home with a smile on my face.......

Fourteen hours to go.....then it's all over for another year........victory is almost mine!

Putin? You have to be joking

Think about it....

1. We bring you drink......you people need the drink just to get through the day.
2. We bring you food...if left to your own devices most of you would starve if you had to fend for yourselves.
3. We don't ride horses, go fishing or hunting with our shirts off......we don't engage in many out door physical pursuits to be honest, unless you count serving food outside on the 5 sunny days a year which we are blessed with here.
4. We have never, knowingly, poisoned any Russian dissidents. Maybe a few estate agents, but hey who cares about them, right?
5. We have never rattled this or any other nation into a nationalist frenzy. But we probably would if there was any money in it.
6. We haven't rigged any elections. We are far too apathetic for that.
7. Waiters have never raged a bloody and hideous war of attrition against anyone. But that day is coming. Just as soon as I can get the helicopters.
8. We certainly don't have $41m squirreled away in secret bank accounts. I have about £60 in my change jar. It's good to have a retirement fund.
9. We don't have a questionable human rights record. Buss boys, bar staff, chefs, and managers are all fair game and deserve a good beating from time to time.
10. And if we wanted to, which we don't, we could run for the next Presidency of Russia. Ha, so take that Putin you arse.
11. And ask yourself this, who has had a greater impact on your life in the last year, waiters or Putin? Don't answer that if you are Marina Litvinenko.........
    

Surely waiters are better and fitter winners of Time Magazine's person of the year. They gave it to him for bringing his country "roaring back to the table of world power." Well with that sort of reasoning why not give it Iran's Ahmadinejad? Or hell if they are setting their sights low why just not give it to the Chuckle brothers, Messrs. Paisley and McGuinness?

If not this year then next year......the time of the Waiter is coming.......and we are bringing our little knives with us......

Enjoy WellDoneFillet Responsibly

Has anyone seen that new Hennessy Brandy advert? Makes me want to vomit. It's just so bloody tragic. Here have a look for yourself, if you can be bothered. See what did I tell you? Vomit inducing artsy pish. I'm not falling for this one bit...

The Marketing supremos at Hennessy want people who look like this to drink Brandy...


But the people that actually drink brandy look like this....


And those people just aren't cool enough for the Ad-Men. I don't think I've served brandy to anyone under 40 in the last 18 years. The thing about brandy is that it should be discovered when you are a bit older, when you have the time to enjoy it's delights. What use is brandy to coked up skinny people in lycra? None what so ever! Brandy is for those who enjoy a slower pace of life. For those who know the value of a good pair of shoes and the value of their house. What next, alcopop brandy? Some sort of brandy and Ribena mix for the kids?

The whiskey makers are at it too. Their adverts have lots of cool 30-somethings drinking their whiskey like it was water. There they are in their Aran Sweater's gathered round a a roaring fire knocking the Tullamore Dew into them with no care of the consequences. Me arse! Most people I know under 30 who drink whiskey end up throwing up, beating up, and throwing up again. Pisses me off. But not so much as the bit at the bottom of alcohol adverts that says, "Enjoy your Crazy Brew Responsibly." Ha! Bullshit.....

And whilst we are on about bullshit, journalists are at it again with the holier than thou stuff. Belfast's Sunday Life ran a story under the, in no way alarmist, headline "ULSTER COKE SHOCK." Apparently people here take coke, and they take it in the toilets of their favourite bars. Shock? I don't think so. And if I'm not mistaken they ran the same bloody story a year or two ago. Gimme a break. Now I'm not saying that the journo who cobbled together that piece enjoys a line or twelve of the Bolivian Marching Powder but I know a fair few hacks who do. They visited 10 bars and found traces of coke in 7 of them. In one bar they didn't find any drugs in the toilets but they did find traces of coke in the disabled toilets. So what were disabled punters to do whilst Columbo was swabbing the walls? Eh?

I'm feeling tired, yet again, and in the mood for a fight. Where's my whiskey....? The good story from last weekend is coming soon, honest.....

I cant live, if living is without you

this is what happens when the broadband isn't working
sad eh....
(original picture removed)

Things to do when your broadband is down....

1. Check your connection every 2 to 3 minutes even though you have already established that the problem isn't at your end.
2. Develop Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
3. Phone the amusingly named Virgin "Help desk" and mutter things like, "Help Desk? Don't make me laugh..."
   
4. Phone the amusingly named Virgin "Help desk" and swear at the recorded message saying things like, "I'll inconvenience you....."
5. Phone your girlfriend, wake her up, ask her if her broadband is working, start a fight because you are pissed off and now so is she.....but for very different reasons.
6. Take modem apart, instantly regret it, panic, and put it back together vowing never to do that again.
7. Put the radio on to see if there has been a terrorist attack on the internet, realise that it's pretty unlikely but carry on listening to a discussion on charity giving. Did you know people in the UK give more money to animal charities each year that give to the disabled etc....
8. Calm down a bit when your girlfriend phone's back to tell you that the broadband in her house isn't working either.
9. Exasperated, frustrated, and annoyed you should sit back and try and remember what it was like pre-internet.
10. Wonder to yourself what everybody else is doing......and are they missing you.......
11. Discover the photo booth feature of your new iMac and spend the next 3 hours making videos of yourself with an elongated face etc.
    

I had a much more interesting post planned for today but the good folks at Virgin Media had other ideas, the bastards. And now I'm off to work......again......arrrrgggghhhh

And Upset Waitress was very badly wronged by me yesterday when I forgot to include her in the Blog Carnival Posts of the Week. I'm very sorry Waitress, very very sorry....

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Upset Waitress Post of the Week.

The Carnival of very certain Bitterness...

I was sure that blogging in December was going to be tough but beat me with a turkey leg and stuff me with cranberries did I think it was going to be this hard. I am getting too old for this malarkey. I'm starting to think I have maybe a year or two left in it and then I shall have to cut it down a bit, maybe a management role would be nice. Hey I can drink coffee and sit in the office just as well as any college graduate. In many respects I am like a professional footballer, beat out at 35 and looking for a role upstairs.

The weekend was another toughie. And as my mind has been turned to a spongy mush akin to cows in the late 1990's you will have to wait for another wee while for the precise details. But here are a few highlights to keep you damp until I can get it together.....

1. I had a woman tell me that whilst she thought the food was fantastic (the best Christmas meal she had enjoyed in years) and that my service was beyond compare (she even kissed me on the cheek) she believed that £30.00 was far too much to tip anyone and she wouldn't be paying it. She left 5%. I evoked the gods of karma. She had better be in hospital by now....
   
2. There was a "celebrity" table booked, well being that it is Belfast celebrity may be pushing it a bit, that caused a minor security scare and left me feeling let down and bitter. Who could it have been? What could they have done? And why did Manuel feel cheated? I did chuckle to myself when they had gone........all will be revealed tomorrow (ish). There's a Well Done Fillet badge if you can name the errant "celebrity"
   
3. Ever wondered what it's like in Basra? Just pop your head into a kitchen on Black Friday. Hell hath no fury like a head chef who has to make something twice.
4. Oh there's more, so much more. Well maybe no "so much" more, but there is more. Soon.

I was hardly online at all over the last few days. But I did manage to fulfill my RoundTable duties....

There is a youngling amongst us....a newbie....a new ray of light onto the world of hospitality. The Queen of Clean blogs at Feather or Foam and she's from Cork. So it's a bloody good job it's not a podcast then as we wouldn't understand a word she was saying. Here's a charming little story about Japanese tourists and their crazy ways. Welcome Queenie, pour us a drink and stay for a while. Will Work For Tips has been a lazy little blog waiter but did give us this reason why, "Yes, No, Good, Bad, Up, Down, High, Low - Why Restaurants Make Me Manic-Depressive." I feel your pain. Why write 500 words to say that you are pissed off when 42 will do just nicely. I give you Half Server Half Amazing' Letter to Erika Martinez. Ali at El Vermino Boulevard had a sweet day and is happy with life. Ha! Watch that go sour. Why am I so cynical yet still so devilishly handsome? At Least Call Me Miss swears more than me, the fucker. I love this story. Tony Dine at Dine in or take Out has his take on tipping. Don't we all. I find his hard to disagree with. Ribeye from Raging Server definitely wins title of the week for "The Jerry Springer Invite and the Crackhead Brigade." My "hit" of the week was about The Princess falling flat on her face trying to copy my act. Get your own shtick sister. But the best story of the week comes from the irrepressible Dennis at Don't Tip The Waiter. Try this one for size, "Next shift after work party extremely uncomfortable." Bloody genius. Saying that if you haven't read this one you really should.....I'm not sure if we are doing post of the week, but Dennis gets my vote, only cause I cant vote for myself.......


Get em read folks........

I'm writing this post on my new I Mac. God bless the dining public and God bless service charges. Three cheers for service charges.......what d'ya mean you don't like em.....mwahahahah

Today I am mostly sore....mostly

the hands of a 35 year old waiter

I have the hands of an arthritic pensioner.

I have a pain in my back that only a coal miner could appreciate.

My feet are glowing angry and don't smell very pretty either.

There was a minor case of chef's arse too which caused me to walk like a duck for an hour

and I have piles...............

















of money. Black Friday, hurts but pays...

What's in a name?

does this make me a knight?
sir moans-a-lot....

Waiters eh, if we aren't spilling soup on you or forgetting to tell the chef that you are allergic to nuts we are writing about you. The internet is chock full of waiter and service industry related blogs. Some are just fucking awful I mean really really turgid whiny stuff, "...and they only left me $45.00 and my feet hurt and the chef swore at me..." and so on. Grow a set and get the fuck over yourself. But for every insecure, whiny tray jockey there are lots of great waiter blogs out there.

Ribeye from Raging Server has set up a weekly blog carnival feature called The Roundtable. It's aim is to highlight the best stories from the food & drink service related blogs out there. Raging Server is hosting the RoundTable this week with it switching to WellDoneFillet next week. So if you come across any great server related blog stories send them my way. I'll be posting the next set of stories on Sunday night/ Monday morning. There is a link at the top of the page to all the RoundTable posts so have a look and maybe you'll find some more blogs that interest you. And more importantly maybe you'll learn to love the waiters in your life a little more. Maybe you'll learn to treat them a little nicer. Hey maybe you'll learn to tip better, and that's what I'm really all about. I'm the Bob Geldof of the waiting wold, "Gimme your fucking money..."

Oh and whilst we are at it, as you all know my blog is called Well Done Fillet......that's well done FILLET, pronounced FIL-LET not FIL-LAY. Now I know this will be difficult for you Americans out there but you really must try. Over here we pronounce it FIL-LET and you pronounce it FIL-LAY, but when you are in my house you will use the former. And another thing the superbly ugly fish Turbot is pronounced TUR-BIT not TUR-BO. Stop it, it really annoys me. Good grief even the French pronounce it TUR-BIT. Don't even get me started on risotto (it's OT-TO not OH-TO). And one final thing for my Spanish speaking friends, stop sending me emails in Spanish asking me if I come from Spain/Mexico/Puerto Rico. I'm not. I'm from Belfast, we don't even have a decent Mexican restaurant anymore. For those of you who don't know I took my name Manuel from the much put upon waiter Manuel from the BBC TV show Fawlty Towers. In reality I am much more like Basil.

I hope that clears a few things up........

Oh and help make Gimme's Christmas dream come true and get Tom Waits to number 1.....do it!

Furniture Shop Opens, people lose minds

Ikea the Swedish furniture store/middle-class fairground opens today in Belfast and people are losing their minds. Literally people are going bonkers. I swear my own neighbours are burning their furniture just so that they can go and get some new stuff. South Belfast is drowning in Ikea catalogues, well thumbed Ikea catalogues. It's all the good people of Belfast can talk about. And it's not like we don't have any furniture shops already. You would think we were sitting on up turned boxes and beer crates and sleeping on top of our coats and putting our pens into beer cans and our rubbish into plastic bags and using candles for light. (I've never done any of those things ever....ever)

CALM DOWN DEAR!

It's just a furniture shop. Yes their stuff is nice. Yes it's well priced. But for fuck sake it's just a shop. It wont make you look smarter/sexier/sophisticated. It really wont increase the value of your house or make you a better lover. It's just a furniture shop. Even the police are getting in on the crazy vibe. The cops are gearing up in the same way they did when GW Bush paid us a visit. The news is full of stern looking coppers with sober advice on how best to make the journey to the land of Swedish Sofa Dreams. It should be added that some of the cops have nice suntans too. Ikea paid for three of them to go to a new store opening in Spain to help with their planning. Good grief.

Now I know Ikea openings can be part riot part suicide cult rally but this is Belfast, we are meant to be disparaging about new things. We are meant to be full of apathy and a "I don't give a fuck" attitude. I blame Clinton's visit, we've all been far too happy since then. I miss our lovely cynicism. I will be shocked and embarrassed if it turns out like the new store opening in North London were 5 people ended up in hospital following a crush as people tried to get into the store. Then of course there was the new store opening in Saudi Arabia were 3 people were killed in a similar crush. Now I'm sorry but I have no sympathy for these people. It's a FUCKING FURNITURE SHOP!!!! Dying for a political cause is one thing but dying because you wanted to be first into a big warehouse full of sofas and bean bags is just bloody daft.

And you have to put the stuff together yourself! Gimme a break.

and you definitely shouldn't go on Sunday afternoon either, I have things to be doing and don't want to be there all afternoon cough cough.........and I'm gonna miss the match!

not a map
instructions for Ektrop sofa!

The Most Disappointing Lie Ever Told

Ladies and gentlemen it is with great sadness that I have to break the news to you that the good name of the restaurant industry and waiters in general has been sullied. This leaves me with a terrible taste in my mouth. Shame hangs over this once proud industry. I'm not sure we will ever recover from this terribly dark period. Only time will tell, only with time can we hope to rebuild your confidence.

A lie has been told.

A falsehood has been uttered.

A customer has been wronged.

It wasn't the exposing of the "homemade cheesecake." Nor was it the the true home town of the "locally reared" carne de vaca. It wasn't the supermarket vodka in the Stoli bottle or the "freshly prepared" gravy from a five gallon tub. No it was much worse than that....

....a waiter lied about a tip he got. Oh the shame. He has let us all down, he has let down the noble art of waiting, but most importantly he has let down the customer. Last week dining rooms across the globe were agog at the story of Billy the Waiter from Santa Monica. Billy works at The Buffalo Club in Santa Monica, and last week he had Mr Donald Trump in for pasta and cappuccino. I'll let Billy take up the rest of the story....

I finally brought them out the check. Trump grabbed it and actually spoke to me from the first time. "What’s the biggest tip you ever got?” “Jerry Bruckheimer comes in a lot. He tipped me $500 on a $1000 check once.” Trump nodded his head. “You’re very good at your job.” “Thanks.”

Turns out Mr Trump had left Billy the Waiter a tip of $10,000 on credit card, yes that's right ten thousand Somalians. Billy the Waiter tried to contact The Trumpster to thank him but you know Donald he's all about the love and shy' away from publicity. Billy even tried to contact Donald at his office...

"Honestly, it was a really rough month for me. Who thought Donald Trump of all people would make my year? But he did. I actually tried calling his office to say thanks which is impossible. So if you’re reading this, Mr. Trump, thank you!”

you'd take the rest of the night off eh?

Thank you indeed Mr Trump. It's the least you can do when a guest tips you $10,000. Eh...um...except he didn't. I mean The Trumpster. He didn't tip Billy the Waiter $10,000 after all. A cheesed off Mr Trump said,

"This was done by the stupid restaurant to get publicity," he said. ". . . It's not my signature."

He wasn't even in California at the time apparently. But the story gets worse folks, much worse...

There I was feeling really rather down about the whole thing. A waiter had lied about a tip. A customer had been wronged. A restaurant had muddied the pure pool of the restaurant water. But then the story changed. It had all been a hoax. It had never happened, there is no Billy the Waiter, there was no $10,000 tip, no restaurant had lied for free publicity. It was all an internet spoof by Derober. Well I was shocked. A spoof on the internet? Oh the horror! This is wasn't Tim Berners Lee had intended. My whole trust system has been rocked. I don't know who to trust anymore. Thank God I still have Fox News* to get me through.......

The original story on Derober

The Good people at Fox News were fooled (since then they have caught themselves on)

As were the top minds at E! & Access Hollywood

The Admission of the hoax on Derober

* obviously I don't watch it.....I have a brain n that.......I'm just spoofing....

It's the way I tell 'em...

that's a cracker...

You have to wonder why some companies bother to go out for Christmas dinner. Some people can barely make eye contact let alone speak to each other. The atmosphere around the perfectly set table (what else would you expect) can range from indifference all the way down to outright hostility. There are the usual cliques that don't like the other little cliques and so on. Now this wouldn't be a problem if the boss wasn't there, but the boss is there so they have to pretend to get along. Or at the very least try not to stab, verbally or actually, each other before the boss excuses themselves and beats a hasty retreat. So most choose to say nothing rather than have to fake it for a couple of hours.

I can't be having that. A dull table makes for a dull night. A dull night makes for an unhappy waiter. An unhappy waiter makes for a grumpy waiter. A grumpy waiter....well you get the point. What these customers need is something else to focus on, something other than the office politics to deal with. That's when I step in. Not being one to hide behind his apron I like to get in there and mix things up a bit. Sometimes I just need to light the fuse, to break the deadlock if you will and they do the rest themselves. Sometimes I have to tell all the jokes, laugh at them and tip myself.....

I have a few one liners that work a treat, for example if an older lady asks for some wine I will ask her for ID. That always gets a giggle and endears me to the ladies at the table. It has to be a one liner. Whilst I would love to regale my guests with amusing and long winded anecdotes about this and that I haven't the time and frankly they would get bored. Short and sharp is the key. I like to say things that they just don't expect. If someone asks for a glass of water I will say, "No", they are shocked for a second then they laugh. You can get away with this if you have confidence and a cheeky smile. And you need to know which tables can take a joke and which cant. A lesson one of my colleagues learnt at the weekend....

I do this thing when I leave down an obviously large bowl of fries or potatoes or anything that is clearly for sharing. I turn to the person closest to the bowl and say, " Now sir, those are for sharing." It gets a big laugh every time, never failed yet. I can hear the table bantering at the fall guy for my simple cheeky joke as I walk away. Well The Princess tried it on Friday night. She set a bowl of potatoes between two ladies and said, "Now ladies those are for sharing."

There was no laughing.

There was no bantering round the table.

There WAS A stunned silence, a reddening of cheeks, and looks of puzzlement.

Then one of the ladies spoke up to say, "Is she calling me fat? What the ....."

Crikey....It took me ages to get all the tumbleweed from the restaurant. I hadn't seen a joke bomb so bad since "I pronounce you Chuck and Larry" (the fucking worst film ever made). The Princess died a little after that. Confidence all shattered. Afraid to go back to the table, she never quite recovered. Neither did her table.

I've had jokes go bad too, like the time I asked the table of 8 60-something women where the men were that night only to discover it was a widows group, ouch, free wine ladies? But I recovered that situation with lots of over the top compliments and practically pimping myself. But the main thing is that The Princess learnt a very valuable lesson.... get your own material.....

I'm sure Bill Hicks would have said the same thing to Denis Leary

Black Friday is coming and the waiters are getting scared

The First Casualty of Black Friday is Innocence
the second is your feet....

The weekend was tough. Not the worst but tough all the same. Next Friday though, the 14th, is Black Friday. This was more charcoal Friday than Black. Black Friday is the busiest day of the year. It's like all hell is let loose and it needs to be fed in five 2-hour sittings. No other day is more eagerly anticipated and feared by chefs, waiters, and bar staff alike. I'm not doing it justice.....

It's fucking hell on earth. It's the perfect storm. It's the tenth circle of hell. It's 14 hours straight, no break, no food, no smokes, no coming up for air. It's not for the weak, the fainthearted or those of a nervous disposition. And certainly not for those who cant work four hours in a row without resorting to quoting European Employment law. All bets are off, all workers rights are put on hold. By the end of lunch you have served more tables than you would on a Saturday night and you still have three sittings to go. If you are unfortunate enough to die during service then you can expect to be moved to the side. Someone will send your next of kin a text message to come and collect you. This is the Champions League/Superbowl of restaurant work. The big fight of catering. The rumble in the restaurant. The Olympics for waiters. Anyone for steroids? It really doesn't get tougher than Black Friday....

It's all about the anticipation of what might happen. Actually it's all about what might go wrong. If we get it wrong on a Tuesday night we might annoy 2 or 3 customers. If we get it wrong on Black Friday we might end up with a riot on our hands. Hell hath no fury like a mid ranking Civil Service manager who has to wait longer for their turkey and ham than they hoped. And with communications being what they are these days you can expect a withering email of complaint before you have even got the tables reset again. I've never been involved in a Black Friday disaster, touch wood I never will. But stories of other restaurants serving desserts at 1 am and customers who had to wait an hour and a half for their first course last for years. It sends a very cold shiver down my back at the thought of it. Your adrenalin is fueled by the desire not to be the one that fucks it all up and personal pride in the job. But mainly the former reason.

Conversely, it's also the greatest rush you can get working in a restaurant. It's a fucking high. The adrenalin is pumping from the moment you put on your uniform. A restaurant in full flow is a beautiful thing. When it flows right, when all you can hear is the laughter of your customers and the popping of corks, when all the staff are moving as one as if choreographed, when the plates go out full and come back empty, when the chef still calls you by your first name and not fuck-wit then it truly is a joy to behold. Not that you have time to behold anything. You will work harder on Black Friday than on any other day in the year. You will also make more money than on any other day. Which is nice. Black Friday is also a very Golden Friday too...

And it's all I can think about....sweet Jebus I'm scared......and excited too.....but mainly scared.....

Back when Steve Martin was still funny...

...he made this little gem. It's only 7 minutes long so stick with it until the end. It's worth it. It's like one of those jokes that you want to walk away from in the middle of it but you're glad you didn't.....

The Absent Minded Waiter

From the very tired waiter......

If you are looking for me I'm at work, then I'll be at Boxer's party...(the drunk in the corner, slurring his words and hitting on everything that moves....classy)

Beware the tired waiter

Manuel and the Energizer Bunny
do not confuse one for the other.....

"You've missed a bit."

"Excuse me, what?"

"You've missed a bit, there, near that corner" She was pointing at the corner closest to herself with a very tanned index finger. The sort of finger that holidays 4 times a year I guessed. The sort of finger that's never done a decent days work in it's life, unless you count signing Visa slips as work. I can tell a lot from a persons finger........

I had been at work for about eleven and a half hours by this point and wasn't really in the mood for table cleaning advice from Mrs-Late-Supper-with-no-Booking. Not in the mood at all.

"Thanks...." I said through very gritted teeth "...I'm just a bit tired, been here from early this morning." I wasn't trying to engage Mrs-Late-Supper-with-no-Booking in conversation, I was just being polite. But she had other ideas.

"Tired!?..." She said in a rather dramatic and very condescending manner. "...you shouldn't be working in this industry if you are going to get tired! I used to work in a hotel years ago and blah blah blah blah blah.........."

I didn't hear anything after the first remark about whether or not I was allowed to feel tired.

WHAT?

HAVE YOU BEEN TUGGING ON THE CRACK PIPE?

ARE YOU FROM THE 1800's WHEN THE HELP KNEW IT'S PLACE?

I resisted the urge to stab/launch a verbal volley. "Yes madam you are, of course, right."

Moments later she had the bill in her hand, not that she had requested it. Which of course she passed to the guy with her. She looked a little peeved. She put her coat on, which bore a striking resemblance to a zebra (animal print is always classy. Ha!) and left. She never even said goodbye. Must have been tired.

Waiters are mortal beings. If you cut us do we not bleed? (if you cut me you had better be ready to do so bleeding of your own) If we work for 12/13 hours at a time do we not get tired? Especially if we work for 12/13 hours at a time and then go home and write about it for an hour or two. I get tired, and when I get tired I get snappy. Beware the tired waiter.......

"Happy Birthday Susan :-)" your chocolates were okayish

So I gave the chocolates back, well that was my intention. There were signs people, signs that I should just keep them. I stuffed the coveted box of chocolates into my man bag and headed off into the early evening gloom. I was 75% sure I knew were I was going. But 100% sure I was doing the right thing. But honestly if it hadn't been for the people voting in the poll I would have had that box nailed before lunch. After ten, maybe fifteen, minutes of flapping about in the dark and a near death experience with a group of Eastern European factory workers (I nearly ran into them as I was trying to smoke and cycle at the same time. I now realise I shouldn't do that) I finally found the house. I learn something new every day....

There was no sign of life. That was disappointing. I wanted someone to acknowledge my good dead, I need the love people. I wanted someone to tell me what a great fella I was. So I got off the bike and propped it against the wall. It fell, the bike that is not the wall (that would have been something) and as I was trying to pick it up the contents of my man bag spilled out, chocolates included. For fuck sake, I gave up watching Neighbours for this?! There were pens, pencils, mints, and other bag fodder all over the pavement. I was getting cranky. Sometimes I feel I am living in a Mr Bean movie, but with swearing, lots of fucking swearing.

So I gathered my stuff up and shoved it all back in the bag save for the box of chocolates. The box was looking a bit worse for wear by now, it had got wet when my bag spilled it's contents. I wiped it a bit with the sleeve of my duffle coat. That didn't really help. Now the wet was spread over the box. Nice. I just wanted shot of the fucking thing now. Plus to anybody passing by I looked like a burglar. Not your normal burglar I should say with my duffle coat and scarf by Scotch and Soda. But I did look odd. With chocolates in hand I sought out the letterbox. I wasn't located in the centre of the door, were any self respecting letterbox should be. It wasn't to the side of the handle were crazy people put them. No it was at the bottom of the door were fat people fear to bend. Cunts. No wonder the postie failed to deliver it to the right address, he couldn't face bending down again. Doesn't the EU have a directive about such things? They bloody should, "EU Directive no.126hgr7-56t The placing of Letterboxes on doors blah blah blah." Must send an angry email to Brussels.......

But would the pissing box go in? No it wouldn't. The box was too big for the letterbox. I knocked, that is to say I banged the door. I waited the customary 3 seconds then I put the chocolates back in my bag and fucked off home. And now I am eating them. What was I gonna do, go back later? I very don't fucking think so. They are okay I suppose but not worth the hassle/guilt. Oh and there was a note inside, "Happy Birthday Susan :-) Sorry I couldn't make it. Brain K." I felt bad for a moment but chocolate took the guilt away. Get a bigger letterbox if you wanna get chocolates in the post!

So what have I learnt from the whole experience? I have learnt four valuable things.

1. Don't ask you lot for moral guidance. You just say the things I don't want to hear.
2. The Posties lot is a hard one what with letterboxes that are too small to get anything in.
3. Don't order chocolates from Thorntons. You will probably never get them and they aren't really very good.
   
4. And most importantly never ever smoke and cycle. It's a killer and no mistake. Don't believe me? Well you try and roll your own on a bike whilst carrying a box in the early evening gloom and see if you survive.
   

And in the end it has cost me, well it will when I go back round to that house with £10 and the card that was in the box, and a made up excuse as to how her birthday chocolates got eaten. I blame the post office....clearly....

they are my chocolates now....

In other news, I can Has Wayterz? now does restaurant related om nom nom nom's and What the Waiter Knows has a much improved jobs section and Boxer is having a party on Friday. I'm bringing chocolates......