Impatience Is A Dish Best Served Raw

, , , , , , | Right | December 12, 2017

Many long years ago, I worked as a server in a nightclub. As was often the case, I was asked to work a reserved party. One customer ordered food and a drink – not too complicated, right?

Well, not two minutes after I submitted her food order to the kitchen and gave the customer her drink, she demanded, “Where my food?!” I assured her that her food was on the way, and left to take orders from the rest of the customers.

Every time I passed her, it was “Where my food?!” and patient explanations from me that the chef needed time to actually make it.

After the third or the fourth time, I’d had enough. I leaned in and said clearly, “If you want your food raw, I can bring it out now.”

The customer backed off, and I had no more problems from her until I delivered her order.

Bouncing Somewhere Else

, , , , | Working | November 16, 2017

(I’m on holiday in New York and have gone to a nightclub for a few drinks with some friends. I’m from the UK. The club we choose has a sign specifically stating that foreign forms of ID are accepted.)

Bouncer #1: “ID.”

(I hand it over.)

Bouncer #1: “This is fake.”

Me: “How?”

Bouncer #1: “The UK doesn’t have driver’s licenses.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure they do.”

(Another bouncer comes over and takes my ID and moves it underneath the light overhead.)

Bouncer #2: “Looks genuine enough. She can come in.”

Bouncer #1: “No, she can’t.”

Bouncer #2: *sighs* “Why not?”

Bouncer #1: “We don’t let foreigners in.”

Bouncer #2: “Well, that sign says otherwise.” *to me* “Sorry about this; he’s new.”

Bouncer #1: *looking at my ID again* “She’s under 21.”

Bouncer #2: “December, 1989. She’s 26!”

([Bouncer #1] blushed and handed my ID back, then let me in. When the club was full he stood at the doors and glared at me the entire time. While I can’t help but commend [Bouncer #2] for his professionalism and experience, [Bouncer #1] ruined our night. We found another club and went there for the rest of our holiday.)

Stripped Of The Relevant Training

, , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

(I am 17. I have left home and am broke, so I lie about my age to get a job in a nightclub. I am a month away from being 18, so I don’t feel too bad. There are no checks and screenings by a lot of places at this point in time. However, I am THE most naive young woman. I know nothing about how the world works in reality, and I find myself working in a nightclub that has seven different rooms and bars, all with different themes. I’ve never even been to a pub or bar socially before this night. I am assigned to [Bar #1], which is pretty normal, and most of the customers seem to be okay. I mess up quite a few drinks, but it is laughed off when I tell the customers it’s my first night. I am doing okay, I think, and even manage to navigate my way around the multi- and split-level corridors to get to the bathrooms and back. The place is a total warren. And then:)

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “[My Name]! Go to [Bar #7]! They need a barmaid!”

Me: *shouts over the music* “Where’s [Bar #7]?”

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “Downstairs! Ask someone on the way!”

(So off I trot, trying to find my way to [Bar #7], asking various customers and staff along the way. Whenever I ask for directions, however, I get comments like, “You don’t want to be going there, love,” or, “Why the h*** are they putting YOU there?” or, “Who the bloody h*** told YOU to go to [Bar #7]?” and so on. But nobody will tell me why I shouldn’t go there, so I get stubborn and carry on. When I finally find [Bar #7], 20 minutes later, I drag the door open, only to be blasted with deafening music – much louder than upstairs. I walk to the bar, and look at the shocked face of the barman there.)

Me: *angry now* “What on earth is the matter with everyone? Why shouldn’t I be here?”

(My new colleague just spluttered and pointed at the stage, going beetroot red in the face. I turned around just as a woman on stage was removing her last piece of clothing with a “TA-DAAA!” gesture. She posed there, stark naked, to rapturous applause from the 200 men watching her. The lights went down, she dashed off the stage, and all 200 men turned to face naive little me at the bar, who was standing there with her bottom jaw resting on the top of her prim little lace-up shoes. I was the only female in the room after a full-on strip show. Gulp. It actually didn’t turn out too badly. I think most of them saw me as a substitute daughter, while the rest were so embarrassed to be caught watching a stripper by a very shocked young woman that they left [Bar #7] in quite a hurry and bought drinks elsewhere.)

This May Be Good-Looking But This Doesn’t Look Good

, , , , | Working | August 15, 2017

(I work in a club that has separate servers for taking orders, delivering food, and delivering drinks. I am a food server. One night, a table server brings me an order, saying the customer found it too cold. It feels fine to me, but I reheat it and bring it out to her.)

Customer: *giving me the stink-eye* “Is this the same food?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, you asked for it to be reheated.”

Customer: “No! I wanted a new dish! It was cold and I want new food cooked.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

(I go into the back, dump the food into a new basket, stick it in the microwave for five minutes, then bum around until it’s done. As I take the now lava-hot food out to the floor, a coworker who serves drinks passes me. He has a muscular build, but a baby face.)

Me: *getting an idea* “Hey, [Coworker]! Take this to the lady at table fifty. Just say it’s her new food.”

(He takes it and walks off. When he gets back, I ask how it went.)

Coworker: “She just took it and started eating.”

Me: “Ha! See, I knew no woman could resist a handsome guy like you bringing her food!”

Coworker: “…”

(Now when we have difficult customers, we have him handle it, because they love him!)

Bouncing Around The Club Tonight

, , , , , | Working | June 22, 2017

(The dance floors of this club are ringed with chairs and counters. I’m sitting out a couple of songs when I spot a bouncer whom I’m convinced has it in for me and is now staring at me. I shrug it off and look elsewhere. But seconds later, I feel him grab my shoulder. I turn to see what he wants and gently lift his hand off, but he grabs me again.)

Me: “Can I… help you?”

Bouncer: “Why are you sitting there?”

Me: “I was a bit tired, so I sat down for a while.”

Bouncer: “You need to go home.”

Me: “I’m not breaking any rules.”

Bouncer: “We can discuss this outside.”

Me: “Er… fine.”

(I follow him out.)

Bouncer: *to the doorman* “I caught him sleeping on the dance floor. He needs to go home.” *marches off*

Me: “What? No. I was just sitting down, because I was a bit tired.”

Doorman: “If you’re feeling tired, you need to go home.”

Me: “No, I mean… fatigued from dancing. I wasn’t sleeping; I don’t know why he got that impression. Look, I haven’t broken any rules and I’m not that drunk.”

Doorman: *considers* “All right. Go back in.”

(I go back in and order another drink (only my fourth) and sit down to drink it. The same bouncer comes my way.)

Bouncer: “I told you to go.”

Me: “The doorman let me back in.”

Bouncer: “But you’re sitting down again. If you’re tired you need to go home.”

Me: *gestures at 20 other people sitting round the dance floor* “Do you do this with everyone who sits down in here?”

(He went off to get another bouncer. By the time they got back, I’d finished my drink and got up to dance again, looking nicely energetic. I saw them next to where I was sitting with him gesturing my way and the other bouncer laughing at him.)

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