It’s Tuesday again. Another fairly slow day. Sped up (?) by the presence of a man that looked like Britain's answer to Donald Trump, excluding Boris Johnson of course. He was sat and the bar and forcing conversation with B, the bartender on duty. His over-talkative demeanour seemed to fly in the face of B’s quieter and more reserved stance. He was the sort of gentleman that didn’t need anyone else to have a conversation. Although he remembered my name (B had called as I headed up the stairs), he did joke that waiting staff should have dog-collar radios around our necks so when the bartender needed something we could run and get it. What a wonderfully dehumanising suggestion!
It was his birthday, he told us. He had been out with his two brothers for the day, and now he was passing his time with us. As a Car Salesman for over thirty years, his motormouth and assertiveness confirmed this. You could tell he was the sort of guy to sell ice to an Inuit. But when I asked if he had any amusing anecdotes from is experience with people in Sales, he could only think of the times he’d put his foot in it.
His catchphrase was ‘do you see what I mean?’. He would ramble on, lapping up my nodding dog pose, then pause to breathe ‘do you see what I mean?’. Once you pick up on someone’s catchphrase/colloquialisms, it’s unbelievably hard to get them out of your head and not find them as annoying as getting hit in the ankle by a scooter (only kids growing up in the 00s will understand). Do you see what I mean?
He also repeated stories, bless him. He mentioned a quote from the Greek philosopher Socrates at least a few times. Perhaps he was just excited, it was his birthday after all. Otherwise, it seemed that retelling the same lines was simply part of his Salesman routine. But he was using it to sell himself, not motor vehicles.
At one point, he was lecturing me, B, and the Assistant Manager (R) on something like 'bettering ourselves' and 'world perspectives', when he said: ‘If you want find out how women think, read a book on women’. At which point I blurted out: ‘Or maybe try talking to women?!’. You know, just as rogue suggestion. He cracked a smile and wagged his finger, nodding his head in agreement, as if saying ‘you might be onto something there’.
Four hours later (I had been for an hour’s break and come back) and he was still there. Talking B into the wall of brightly coloured bottled spirits. The French Exec Chef (F) even shouted me up to the kitchen at one point, to buy me some time away from the fella. F warned me that I should be careful as men can take advantage of an easy listening and friendly persona. The vibes I got from the gentleman wasn’t creepy, but rather lonely and maybe a bit dislocated. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I know it shouldn't be important (I don't know the guy's story), but I couldn't help but sympathise that this man was spending his time on his birthday, as a lone stranger at a bar.
The next day, Frenchman proceeded to tell the owners of my (please emphasize in a ridiculously strong French accent for someone who has been living in the UK for a good decade or so) ‘stalkeuuuur’. I laughed it off and said he was a sweet man, probably lonely, and he bought us all a drink for the shift.
Perhaps I am unfairly slating the guy. I did enjoy his conversation- I mean, monologue (as a conversation is between two people, is it not?). He dished out a few nuggets of wisdom. He asked me who the most important person in the world is? I hazarded a guess at Joe Biden President of the USA can't be too far wrong). He countered me, saying: "The person you’re talking to is the most important person in the world". His explanation was based on being present and mindful. It doesn’t matter what else is going on in the world, or whoever else is in the room, the person in front of you should be your sole attention for that moment. Quite poetic, really. And he certainly held our attention for a long amount of time.
He also repeated a notable philosophy from Socrates: "I know that I know nothing". Essentially, Socrates here is comparing the Theory of Knowledge vs Theory of Wisdom. The enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, as one can educate themselves what they do not know. The real battle is ignorance unaware, as if we believe in the illusion that we know something we actually don't it will be much harder to change. What the guy at the bar was advocating was: "always speak to someone as if they know something you don’t". The unassuming attitude and humility of that statement was quite touching.
Another musing from the man. He said he writes down every day 'I am at my happiest when...' and fills in the blanks. He said that it was often when he is "thoughtful and mindful" towards others is when he he feels most at peace. I often write my own affirmations (cringey af I know, but anxiety and depression doesn't leave me feeling super cool either), so I could empathise it was a good way of keeping grounded and reminding yourself of your priorities .
He was certainly an odd man. Talking to stranger to pass the time is certainly not a bad way to spend the afternoon, especially when I'm getting paid. You see little windows into people's lives, the person they want to present themselves as.
Wednesday. (I swear I won’t always do this day-to-day rundown of events because the last thing anyone needs is another bloody self-obsessed diary entry). Tensions were running high as the much anticipated Food Standards Agency inspector had arrived. Last time, the infamous Capri was given a measly 1 star rating and forced to close. This was only going to be dramatic. Frenchman was in a particularly bad and tense mood.
Annoyingly, it was a busy lunch period with only me and R on the floor. Running around serving tables both inside and out. There was a handyman working on the extractor fan in the kitchen, so I was having to manouvere, both dirty plates into the sink, avoiding Frenchman and the inspector, as well as dipping through the ladder to collect the cooked food, without getting on anyone’s nerves. Striding back into the building, I let out a massive sigh and my GM noticed. I loudly said that "I was absolutely sweating". One of the three owners was perched on the couch behind the door...hopefully he knows I work hard. Meanwhile, he was sitting back and complimenting the interior (he had designed) and the modelling of the place.
Of course, it was no strain on me to about the inspection as I would most likely not be asked any questions. However, I'm such and empath so my stomach was tightening at the anxiety and emotions of everyone else.
Thankfully, we were awarded 5 stars (Lord knows how- it only leaves you to question what the state of places that are awarded anything less). Pats on the back all round and everyone could relax. And honestly, that’s all we did. After a busy lunch service, all the customers petered out. Eventually it was only the DJ’s family in, as well as most of the Barrique staff, who’d been given a day off by their manager. We just chatted and made them drinks. All paid with staff discount, of course. In any other job, how often do your mates come round to see how you're getting on?
Not to quote Echosmith’s hit 2013 song, but I was never one of the ‘cool kids’. I never had a big, broad group of mates at school or university. My anxiety made me very much of a person that gets on better with girls; I’ve even almost self-sabotaged a few relationships, simply because I didn’t think I was ‘their’ sort of person, and that they were in a higher 'league' from me. I still get that niggling thought and note of surprise when someone wants to talk to me. Habits are hard to kick.
But, now, I have found a place in being with a group of people. We don’t know the intricate details of each other’s lives, and apart from working under the same owners in hospitality we might not even have that much in common. Still, we get along with each other. It feels like a weird family.
I clocked off at 8pm, having turned down a drink with S, one of the KP’s, I was focussed on getting a good night’s sleep so I could be energised and motivated for the following day. Then, the GM (she finished her shift about 4pm) had come in and asked if I was having a drink with her. It would be rude not to. Two glasses of wine and a tequila shot later, B (the DJ) and T came in, and we all eventually agreed to have a little boogie at Marvin’s.
Having had the latter years of my university experience robbed by the pandemic, I have really missed going out. Spontaneous situations can fill me with anxiety but they’re also what makes me feel most animated. Four of us in the bathroom toilets (GM, L and R), as GM chats excitedly how we need to book a night out together, just us four and have a blast. We leave the toilets and hear a smashing of glass and turn around to, broken glass all over the floor and someone’s limp body being dragged out. There had been a fight. R said: “I hope that wasn’t one of our lot”. (I won’t bore you with the details of how T stood up to a guy heckling the waitress, and how after he hit T a couple of times, T knocked him down and B dragged him out). As the rest of the staff were consoling the other customers and the guys outside, I went behind the bar to grab a broom to start sweeping up the glass. Can’t get rid of the instinct.
Marvin’s closed and R suggested after’s at her place. Normally I’d melt away at this point, but not wanting to be the first to go home, we walked to R’s house, whilst L and R teared off to B’s. We shared a bottle of prosecco and stories of traumatic relationships with men. I got a taxi back about 4am, woke up at 11am, still buzzing from the night before. From moving to a place where I knew no one four months ago, I felt the thrill of feeling at home.
Back to waitressing. Funny instances? Always.
This week, it’s been really hard to keep a straight face.
It’s really hard not to laugh when a customer pronounces the well-known Italian dry white wine a pinot ‘jijio’ (grigio, to those of sane mind). She was old enough to know better.
Another time I was walking to a table with two hot drinks. Holding the tray with both hands for balance, one of the customers gave me the patronising reassurance of “come on, you can do it!”. I’m not sure I hid my look of irritated distaste very well.
Saturday Night: I had placed a mojito on a tray, but I didn’t know which table to take it to. As I swung round to ask L, a lime from the top of the drink jumped out. Putting the tray back down on the side, I went to pick up the lime segment off the floor and turned around to out it in the bin. As I was doing so, a gentleman reached out his hand dramatically and went “NO! That’s been on the floor!”. I politely said "I know", turning towards the bin. Again, completely fabricating his own situation, he said “don’t put it back in the drink!”. Baffled at what sort of establishments this gentleman had been to where they put items that had fallen onto the floor into someone else’s drinks, I explained: “that’s why I’m putting it in the bin?”. Walking to the end of the bar, I poked another lime segment with a cocktail stick and put it in back in the drink. This time, his other mate was having a go: “don’t put it in the drink it’s been on the floor!”. For goodness sake, they really set the bar low.
I’ve written about my pet-peeve of people furiously waving for the bill, or for attention to order (for goodness sake, you left school in the last century- grow up and put your hand down). Normally I often like overhearing snippets of people’s conversations. It can provide many minutes of entertainment in wondering what the history and motivations behind the comment was. For example, "He lied to her about how tall he was. So when they met up for a walk, she said you're not actually 6ft 3. And it was the most awkward 20 minute walk ever. She just went home". However, alongside with customers acting like I’m not there, I detest it when they say something like: “Go on Claire, have a pornstar. Well, Claire’s got to have a pornstar. Claire’s FAMOUS for her pornstars”. Giggle, giggle. Wink, wink. Oh joy. Nothing like a group of middle-aged women having their bi-annual ‘drinky-poos’ where they just talk about their kids and how they’re slowly getting more and more disgusted and annoyed at their ageing husband.
I find that customers cannot order a pornstar martini without doing a sly little smirk, a little tilt of the head and glimmer in their eye, as if it's a scandalous drink. Like,they're trying to say "Look at me; I am a lady of the night". Simmer down.
Something which always makes me chuckle, is the awkward 'I-don't-want-to-pay-for-the-bill' dance. I've seen it countless times in multiple variations. An elderly couple waiting for their friend to come back from the toilet, then Lady A made a performance of paying for the bill whilst her friend (Lady B) quietly insists she'll pay. The Lady A accepts a bit too quickly to be convincing and doesn't argue back. Another one, a guy struts in from a big table and asks for the bill. My colleague asks if the customer wants to pay now; he suddenly stutters, jerking his head up and down, and mumbles that he doesn't want to pay for all of it. I take the bill out and, right on cue, there's the token waving of debit cards and softly spoken "We'll get this mum. We'll pay for our share". Then the fake outrage of the kids as the matriarch paying for a full tab, yet again. Amazing.
The restaurant hosted its first party on the Sunday. It was a 50th birthday of someone by the name of K. She had ordered an arc of balloons and a giant metal K to stand underneath. It made me think of a very extra way to respond to someone who leaves you on read, like ✨K✨. It was a chilled afternoon- no dramas, no breakages, no one getting excessively drunk. Quite boring really. K had put a grand on the tab as a sort of open-bar situation. Everyone behaved politely and moderately towards the buffet food, not wanting to appear over-indulgent or put on an extra pound before their beach holiday. Of course, it was only when we started clearing it that people actually started eating it. Nothing attracts a crowd like scarcity. Typical. I was munching on the untouched tempura broccoli in the kitchen; it's not a very graceful thing to eat in public, never mind at a social event.
The atmosphere in the kitchen upstairs was a completely different story. The chef on duty is the amazing, barely-scraping 18 year-old F. he’d already done practically a full shift of cooking and then was catering for 35 people at our gaff, then another 40 at Barrique. Frenchman was in a worse mood than usual. His bad vibes were oozing at the seams and leaking through the floorboards. You felt your heartbeat speed up and jutter, your adrenaline spiking, when you went into the kitchen. Frenchman is passionate and immensely talented, but stressful to be around. He often aggravates situations: the chefs were all bickering and grunting at each other, like teenage boys playing a team FIFA game that's not going to plan. I joke about the melodrama, but the situation was volatile.
I’d hoped all day we could close at a decent time. But this was a straggler’s birthday party. Understandably not wanting to push the birthday girl out of her own bash, the night wearied on. After she left, people were still hanging about. I said to J, “don’t they have work tomorrow?”. I passive aggressively put the covers on the sofas outside and started stacking the chairs- hoping they would catch on. Two ladies came outside for a smoke and were drunkenly discussing the behaviour of one of their friends when asked about going home in petty detail. My eyebrows (and my hopes of them leaving) raised.
After closing, T persuaded me to have a drink to end the shift. The Deacon was shut so we scuttled to Marvin’s (again). We bumped into a very merry R and her friend. R giggled to me that she had slept just 2 hours over the whole weekend. She'd been to a wedding, a pretty heavy one at that. Marvin's had also closed early due to some local drama. R's friend said we could go to hers if we promised to be quiet, not disturbing her husband and kids who were tucked up in bed. Strange move but apparently that's all we needed to be convinced. I had turned away to head back, at which point R had grabbed my arms and was softly pulling me to J's car to come with.
The night began with 5 of us squished in a car driving to (what we all thought was) R’s friends house. Then, confused at her directions, we asked where we was going. She said she'd changed her mind (we were all apparently 'too loud') and but was taking us to Fifteen's in St. Anne’s. She had insisted it was always open (ironically, we arrived after last orders). The hilarity of being 4 people squeezed into the back of the car, me practically levitating on T’s leg, and the driver taking directions from someone who was steaming. No idea where we’re going, or how good J's driving is, looking at the car monitor lights in the dark- I thought to myself, this is what makes me feel alive.
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