It was a bit of quiet after Lytham Proms, but all the staff appreciated a chilled, uneventful week. However, if the trickle of customers is so steady as to be almost static, it does make it a long shift.
You get so used to the prospect of a slow day that it gets to the point where you audibly sigh when a new customer arrives. It's easier when you’re in the flow of Service, rather than the staccato of stop-start, stop-start. It's like you have to reinvent your persona every time, instead of staying in character for the whole shift.
Tuesdays seem to be the worst. Having worked the last few (one was after the staff social so you can guess we had only one sober and functioning brain cell between us all), they are particularly dull. During the +12hr shift you feel as if the whole world could have dramatically changed since the morning and you know nothing about it, simply left ignorant and outcast from society. You imagine you had a life before work: hobbies, interests. Not just trying to get through the day.
I used to work as a receptionist in a doctor’s surgery, so I normally get on well with the elderly clientele. They can be quite endearing and chatty. And, whether you want to listen or not, they're likely to try and teach you something from their life. But the older folks in Lytham seem to have a sense of entitlement which is quite baffling.
I was clearing a gentleman’s table when he simply pointed at a half-eaten lobster tail & said it was inedible. I apologised and asked if it was over- or undercooked. He lifted up his partly-munched/partly-digested monstrosity and showed it to me (toddler behaviour activated), his chin quivering slightly. The though-process of this man perplexed me somewhat- as I have never thought that presenting someone with your half-digested meal would solve problems.
I'm already starved on shift, I don't want to be put off eating as well. Trying to maintain an air of civility in my disgust, as well as a neutral face, I apologised and said I would talk to the kitchen. A classic line of saying what the customer wants to hear, and acknowledging there's not much you can do about it: delegation of responsibility.
I’m a feminist but: the older ladies are the worst. the slightest inconvenience or change causes some of them to have a nervous breakdown. Me and L (bar team/waitress) had to make the same cappuccinos on four separate occasions before these two heavily made-up ladies were satisfied. The first complaint resulted in the lady nearly having a fit because the cappuccino wasn’t frothy enough. After correcting this, the second lady complained that her’s was lukewarm (this was 5 minutes later, so i hope she hadn’t waited it out to just ruin my day). The second lady apologised and said “Oh I'm sorry, I bet you think we’re such a nuisance”. I gave her my best smile and laughed, saying “you’re fine”. And, honestly, I did mean it; I know people have a right to be specific about what they want. After all, they are paying. But it's the way you do it. Tact. Unfortunately, these elderly women had none. The same lady chuckled (or scoffed?) at my response and said: “You say with gritted teeth”. Wow. My teeth were relaxed before but they were certainly gritted now. I beg you, how is anyone meant to respond to that? I couldn't even laugh it off without sounding manic.
There must be a graph which illustrates that, past a certain point, as age increases, discretion and social etiquette decreases rapidly.
“Hellooooo? hellooo?”. It was almost too comical to believe was real. I was walking past the restaurant area to see to an outside table when an older lady had extended her arm out aggressively and was waving, calling 'hello' to me and my colleagues. I felt embarrassed for her but she was undeterred. She commanded the bill. When I brought it to the table, waiting on standby, she batted me away with her hand and said "leave us to sort it out". Bit rude. Doing the classic 'do-a-small-task-then-come-back' routine, I returned to the table a few minutes later. I was about a metre and a half away when she battered me away again, like I was a pigeon that kept pestering for crumbs. I quickly decided that I would actively refuse to deal with her again.
In the industry, sometimes you get ‘the ick’ for a table. They do something annoying/weird and you just can’t face them again. Whether it is out of social awkwardness or sheer dignity, you leave it to a different colleague to deal with. It's not 'passing the buck' but just simply so you stay sane. My GM mentioned that it is worse on the quieter days, where the interactions seem to command more attention and more space. The odd behaviour or exchange can knock you off, and you have a weird vendetta against that table for the rest of their stay.
Of course, there are exceptions to the rule. And often older couples can be charming, if a bit twee. We had a slightly older (mid-to late 60s?) couple of regulars come in for coffee later; it is always a nuisance because the late-hot-beverage-drinkers end up staying ages. Hugging their mugs like the children they don't see enough of, and hogging the tables like their untaxed savings). The lady checked if her coffee was a decaf, and was incredulous that her husband was as having a caffeinated drink. I joked saying that even I couldn't drink coffee this late, and he'll be up all night. He smirked and said “I'm hoping I will be". Yikes. His wife elbowed him and started chattering hysterically that she didn't know what he was insinuating. I had scuttled away by this point, I tend to blush profusely in these awkward situations.
One of my favourite aspects of the job is is watching the steady decline of customers. You get small groups that come in ‘for just one drink’ on a Sunday and then a bottle of wine, a few cocktails and a handful of shots later, they're calling a taxi. We had a guy come in who started off with half a Peroni, followed by another half, then another, then a full pint, and another etc. His harmless enjoyment of the Sunday afternoon steadily but certainly descending into a Peroni-fuelled piss-up with just him and his dog. Every time I put a pint down (I lost count after a bit), the beautiful pup teased his owner by attempting to lick glass. The guy came in at one point carrying the dog over his shoulder, like a weird rendition of the Lost Sheep. L and I gazed at the dog behind the counter; L ruffled the top of the fluffy dog's head and talked how gorgeous he was. The owner winked (to no one in particular) and said "he's great for the graft- I get loads of numbers". On that bombshell, he just walked out. Leaving me and L looking slightly incredulous and in fits of laughter. I didn't realise animal labour for 'grafting' was a reality and not just a Hollywood concept from Marley& Me.
A guy came in dressed in a full wedding suit and waistcoat, looking quite flustered. He explained he’d been at a wedding which was almost unbearable in the heat. He mumbled out an order of a few drinks and then dashed off to the Men's bathroom. When I brought the drinks out, him and his mates were beyond confused. The suit guy was clearly steaming and had just mumbled vaguely coherent orders, none of which were what his mates actually wanted (who were suitably more sober than him). I took the correct drinks order from them and the guy in the waistcoat kept throwing money at me. His mates looked half-apologetically, half hysterically at me during this whole shenanigan. The suit guy asked if there was any alcohol in his drink, I said "no, it's a lime and soda". He asked if I could put something in it, like vodka. Being kind, I only poured a single shot. I figured he needed to get home somehow and his mates seemed to just be enjoying the free entertainment.
Another friends and alcohol story. Two girls in their early twenties (i’m guessing?), perhaps straight from their first year at university, had come in for a drink. When I took the order, the first girl with her hair in a stylish messy bun (a trend from the 2010s but it still, when done right, can occasionally look good) made a big deal of only having one drink. The second girl, with sleek and straight brown hair, was talking about how sad it was that she’ll never live in lytham again as after university she’ll go straight to London. Oh, I too had such high hopes. Longterm life plans? Goals and ambitions? In this economy? Ha. Every young person goes t university with the impression that they have flew the nest, only to be thrust back in 3-4 years later with a colossal amount of debt and a degree that has convinced that they know more than their parents and their self-diagnosed genius is 'under-appreciated'. See you in a few years.
When I gave the girls their bill, I did the usual drill of asking if they’re paying together or separately. They said separately. Messy-bun girl said she only had the rose gin, and straight-down girl said she had two. “Yeah, you alcoholic!” messy-bun girl crassly joked. They both let out an annoying laugh and then simultaneously slurped the remainder of their drink. Delightful. I tried tried not to roll my eyes into the back of my head at the idea having 2 drinks makes you an alcoholic, and having 1 makes you a saint. You don’t get points in life for restraint, but you do get deductions for being a dick about it.
Call me lame but I find jokes about addiction less than funny. After seeing people sleeping rough neck a bottle of cheap red wine at 10am on a high-street, I think your mate can have an extra drink and not feel that social services should get involved.
The GM likes her Sunday evenings off. Based on a family tradition, it seems only fair that she should have this little luxury. She had been out for a couple of drinks and later came back to the restaurant to say hi. She walked into the empty bar area and did a cartwheel. She seemed to have surprised herself at her actions and checked "did you see that?!” and “did i flash you my bum”. Never a dull moment and I bloody love it.
J came leisurely over from The Deacon, clearly looking for distraction from his duties and a bit of respite from the heat. He convinced me and R to have a shot of Baby Guinness with him to get through the rest of the shift. We gave a cheeky cheers towards the security camera and necked it. Having never had one before (the luxury of not paying), it was quite a sweet and creamy shot of liquor. J wasn't;'t wrong, it revived me a bit.
After R and I closed the restaurant, two of the bar staff (O and T) from Barrique came over for a drink with L. I’d never seen her intoxicated before but she was just like a caricatured version of herself. L was the epitome of every drunk girl in the bathroom: telling me I am her favourite waitress and she doesn’t get why I'm not married yet. A bit stunned at this turn in conversation, I laugh and say she can do me the honours.
I know I slagged off Marvin's (music bar) before, but I was finally convinced to experience this enigma of a night out.
Only 2 drinks in, I was the most sober there. I don’t need any alcohol to dance; but it was great seeing everyone else just lose their inhibitions and throw their whole body at the cheesy music. B (the usual DJ at work) was jumping from seats and dancing like it was a solo performance. I normally see him reserved behind the decks, with minimal movement, and just the odd emphatic hand gestures here and there to reinforce his coolness. But turns out, he can really go for it. I said to T it was a decent karaoke performer; he laughed at me saying that it an actual band performing. Bit awkward that.
We were all still in our uniforms (white shirt and smart jeans) so we must have looked like an odd crowd of overgrown school leavers. T and O started throwing passionfruit (from the pornstars) at each other, splattering the bright orange seeds all down their work shirts. Things quickly descended into chaos: T had burned his fingers from a flaming shot glass so he was resting his fingers in ice water, to which O quickly and gracefully knocked down T's crotch. I didn’t condone their behaviour (you feel a bit helpless when your drunk mates are acting like they're 8-year-olds) but I felt a twang of relief that I was a bystander in all the chaos, for once.
I started talking to a guy called C on the couch. He said he recognised me from Lidl, where he works. It’s always strange seeing someone out of their work uniform and in a different environment. Like seeing your teacher from school doing their grocery shopping in normal clothes, or, as my GM describes seeing F out of an apron. It's uncanny). My brain was doing acrobatics to trying to place him in this new context (he was less than sober and pint in hand) and resisting the temptation to ask if he needed help to cleanup on aisle 7. C started gushing about how he knew one of the chefs at my work, he even got his Facebook profile out to prove it. He was going on about how J and his fiancée are perfect for each other: "he's a bit wild, and she's a bit wild". Whatever that means. C then promised that if I came into Lidl and said “Alright C?“ to him, he’d pay for my shopping. I don't think he was flirting, just testing my sociability. He gestured he could do that quite easily with his apple watch, making me think this was a chat-up line that must have a track record of working. Was this a dire proposition for or was it just good practical economics? Forget a free dinner- gals just want a free food shop for the week. As of writing I haven't yet been back to Lidl (shocking, I know), so I’ll keep you posted if it works.
Despite a fairly ordinary week at work, between The Deacon, Barrique and us, we all felt like we needed to let off some steam. Sunday night is our Friday night: we slowly get more and more delirious throughout the day. I’m not suggesting people in Hospitality are the only ones who work long hours, aren’t appreciated enough, or even like to let their hair down when they go out. We’re not even the only ones that can struggle to differentiate work with social life because of being in a drinking environment. But we're watched at all times, whether by security cameras, customers or management. You're both very visible and very invisible. But that’s the point with C from Lidl. Yes, he was probably not his most sober self. But he wanted me to acknowledge his outside-of-work identity, remember who he was and not see him as another faceless person at the checkout till. He can be both store manger at Lidl as well as drunk voice-noting an old school friend at 11:30pm on a Sunday night.
Same with the GM doing a cartwheel: she's only 21 and deserves a laugh. We work bloody hard when it matters, and we enjoy the weightless feeling of messing about when it doesn't. You can get accustomed to just being inconspicuous and unseen in a busy Service job that it gets quite numbing on your identity. You're always in the background to the main event: the customer. Of course, that's what the Hospitality and Entertainment industry is built upon. Having a work persona is all fun and games until that's all what people see you as. You can't 'be professional' all the time. But after you've clocked off your shift, you're allowed to resume to some kind of 'normal'. We're multi-dimensional people. Shock, horror: we all have lives outside of work.
So, if you see me out- don't look at me as just 'the waitress' from that restaurant. I'm not 'strutting' at the gym, buying coffee 'extravagantly' or 'letting myself go' in Marvin's, I'm getting back to myself again.
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