Archive for ‘Workforce’

November 30, 2011

I Wait on Famous People

by ANDREW HICKS

In 1957, Andrew Hicks serves Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra a Chocolate Thunder From Down Under at the Outback Steakhouse in Springfield, Ill.

Last week at work, I thought I spotted the guy who played Craig’s dad in the Friday movies. Turns out it was one of the Isley Brothers. But it got me thinking, I’ve waited on a ton of famous people in my years as a server. Here are some highlights:

  • While still in server training at Long Horn, I had to cut Bob Dole‘s 6-ounce sirloin into tiny pieces tableside. You know, because of that whole dead-arm thing he has going on.
  • Not long after his gastric bypass surgery, I served Al Roker a grilled cheese from the kid’s menu. He ate two dainty bites and tipped me 135 percent.
  • As a young cocktail waitress, I served a round of peach schnapps shots to Jesus Jones.
  • I once laid out some paper towels for Ricky Martin during a restroom attendant shift at a seedy strip club called Chez Nutz.
October 18, 2011

How To Get Fired From a Restaurant

by ANDREW HICKS

If you can name the movie this image comes from, chances are you've spent some time sitting at home watching TBS after being fired from a restaurant.

1. Confront Customer About Bad Tip
I work in semi-fine dining. A couple weeks ago, a server who had transferred into our store from out of town — a dude in his late 30s who reminded me of an unfunny Christopher Walken — waited on a couple whose bill totaled $123.65 or some shit. The gentleman paid Walken 130 bucks cash, told him to keep the change. Unfunny Chris, upon noticing the customer’s 5.3 percent tip, went boltin’ like Michael up to the entry vestibule, where he caught up with the couple. Unfunny Chris, by the way, is like 5’10”. This customer was like 6’5″. And big. And black.

And, during the moment where — in theory — he’s supposed to feel all embarrassed and cheap over his awful tip, this customer EXPLODES with rage and booming obscenities. Walken tries to come back with some vocal and body language intimidation of his own, but instead, in a matter of minutes, he gets slowly cornered by this dude, walked backwards in tiny steps from the front door to the side entrance to the back of house. A half-dozen or so guests sitting at the bar all quickly pay their tabs and leave. Meanwhile, the disgraced customer screams on: “This is bullshit! I thought I was in [name of rich neighborhood]! I’ve worked in restaurants for 20 years! Here, punk ass, here’s 20 more bucks. Is THAT a good tip?!” (Answer: yes.)

The manager on duty quietly slips the general manager’s business card to the enraged customer, tells him he knows his boss will make the situation right for him. Unfunny Christopher Walken fumes off, does his sidework, cashes out, tells everyone he’ll see them tomorrow and leaves. No, Chris, we will not see you tomorrow. We will never see you again.

read more »

October 14, 2011

Things That Won’t (Necessarily) Get You Fired From a Restaurant

by ANDREW HICKS

Every restaurant has its very own Server Who Hates Every Customer.

Depending on where you work, you’ll have a strong chance of keeping your restaurant job after doing any of the following:

  • Being a homeless dishwasher who bathes yourself in the guest men’s room. Hand soap costs mysteriously shoot through the roof, yet you still smell like straight B.O. and urinal cakes.
  • Tossing and serving a house salad that contains a half-smoked Black-N-Mild which was tucked behind your ear.
  • Tossing and serving a house salad that contains a used latex glove.
  • Tossing and serving a house salad that contains a rotted-out (presumably Mexican migrant) tooth.
  • Making a roast beef to go and having your bloody Band-Aid come off somewhere in the sandwich.
  • Being under the influence of twice your dosage of half a dozen prescription pills. Every shift.
  • Being a busboy, cleaning up a booth that has just held a breastfeeding mother, then announcing loudly to a server across the room (during the lunch rush), “Dude, there’s breastmilk all OVER this booth bench!”
June 18, 2011

Suburban Unemployment Blues

by EMILY TOOPS
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Emily Toops seeks gainful employment as bench swing guarder. So far, all her bench swing guarding work has been done on a pro bono basis.

As a 19 year old who’s never held down a job, doesn’t have a driver’s license and isn’t planning on returning to college next year, I often hear phrases like, “You need to sort out your priorities,” “Get your life together, dammit,” and, “What did I do to deserve such a sorry excuse for a daughter?”

When I was a kid, I always assumed that at 19, I’d have accomplished all my dreams. I’d be a well-received actress living in a swanky apartment in Chicago’s super-elite Gold Coast neighborhood with my boyfriend Orlando Bloom, summer property in Barbados and Steve Martin on speed dial. I now realize in order to make this childhood dream come true, I do, in fact, need to get my life together and find me a job. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds.

A lot of the ol’ “go-to” ideas that instantly come to mind when considering first-time employment have already been exhausted. Babysitting isn’t going to happen. I hate children with an intensity that puts me somewhere between the psychos of lore who hand out arsenic-laced candy on Halloween and crotchety old people who like to scream at local young’uns to “get the hell off my lawn.” The kids who live in my neighborhood are tiny minions of Satan, and I’d sooner exorcise them than watch them for an hour. All the little bastards around here have nannies, anyway.

read more »

June 1, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 5

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

J.Miz-brand Shellack: Now available in Jewfro Strength!

MONDAY

Men who ask me out and have no notion of dating etiquette will be asking out a lot more girls.

Today, I start hiding people in my Facebook news feed. It’s like a modern day book burning of sorts.

There’s a group of dudes outside talking. I wish all those bros* would shut up and just let the South African dude talk. I don’t know what he’s saying, but it’s HOT!

*white meathead guys

My white friend just used the phrase “dip set” in a sentence. Correctly. #NapervilleIsGangster

SUNDAY

This Midwest humidity is fucking up my fabulous, so I invented a new product — Shellack: Anti-Humectant! Now available in Jewfro Strength.

I miss my Geo Prizm. #ShitINeverSay

My 4-year-old niece Azzy just asked why I’m not married and my apartment is so small. Mentally I kicked her in the chest, and it was satisfying.

Going out in public with my niece allows me to rock the I’m Just A Tired, Dissheveled Hippie Soccer Mom look. #ImReallyJustLazy

I’d rather wake up next to a one-night stand than my 4-year-old niece. They forget your name, she says it repeatedly. #INeedCoffee

read more »

February 16, 2011

Waiting on the Last Supper

by ANDREW HICKS

I was a restaurant server for many years, and during our down times, the ultimate hypothetical question was: If you got sat with a 13-top (that’s a party of 13 in restaurantese), and it was Jesus and the disciples sitting down for the Last Supper, would you want to wait on it?

Someone would always say, “Sure, I mean, it’s Jesus, the most important religious and historical figure of all time. That’s a big deal. I might make it into the painting and everything!”

Then someone else would always say, “No way. I hate waiting on Christians. They tip like crap.” And, you know, that stereotype is pretty much true. The Bible tells believers to give 10 percent to God, so why would they give their server 20 percent? Good restaurant service is a godsend, but it’s not worth twice the dough you cough up to the Almighty.

Usually, you get an 8 percent tip with one of those Are You Going To Heaven? pamphlets on top. Which, if you get one of those, the answer is assumed to be “hell no.” Your customer analyzed your manner, your demeanor and your choice of small-talk topics and determined you were a heathen in need of redemption via mass-printed, poorly written, completely impersonal contact.

Me, I would definitely choose to wait on the Last Supper. Because I’m pretty sure from scripture that if you touch whatever part of your body ails you to any part of Jesus or his Holy Robe, you are instantly healed.

You could walk up to the table, say, “Lemme get that empty bread plate outta your way, sir,” then lean in, grab the plate, do a little pivot turn, and touch your back to Jesus’ shoulder before he’d even realize what was going on.

You’d be in the back of house, coworkers giving you crap: “I see you’re waiting on Jesus out there. What did he order for everyone, a fish sandwich with 12 extra plates?”

And you’d be like, “As a matter of fact, he did, but I don’t even care because I think he just healed my bad back, and he didn’t even know it.”

Later on, you’re dropping the check: “Does anyone care for some Cinammon Matzo Mania or Kosher Chocolate Strudel tonight? No? Okay, well then, just pay me whenever you’re ready.” Lean way over Jesus, present the check at the center of the table, and kind of mash your crotch into his back while you’re doing it. And exit to the back of house.

COWORKER: I bet he pays with a gift card and leaves you two bucks.
YOU: Yeah, well, I’ll be sure to cry about that after I go home and have sex with my wife with my penis that suddenly works again…

December 29, 2010

Contributors Needed

Do you enjoy our website? Do you consider yourself to be a writer of equal or higher caliber, as well as thoroughly Not Funny? Why not write with us? We currently have room for a few contributors. If you think you qualify, please contact us through the Interested In Writing With Us? page link above. Your self-esteem will thank you, at least until we reject your first submission.

-We’re Not Funny

December 7, 2010

Drink Order

by Andrew Hicks

Imagine yourself as a longtime restaurant server, and picture the following scenario: You walk up to a table. A man is sitting alone with one menu in front of him and one across from him. You approach him and toss off a casual, “Hello, how are you?” He shoots back, “I’m waiting for my wife!” You have to imagine this guy’s gruff response as a moderately toned-down version of Harrison Ford’s line in The Fugitive, where he’s in the giant sewer pipe waterfall and he barks to Tommy Lee Jones, “I didn’t kill my wife!” That’s the basic delivery.

Okay, yes, I see you’re waiting for your wife, you think. You say, “Well, is there something you’d like me to bring you to drink in the meantime?” Now the Man With Two Menus is more insistent in his reponse, more like Tommy Lee Jones in the same Fugitive scene, where Tommy yells out, “I don’t care!” The MWTM looks at you like you’re crazy and offers a clipped, “I’ll wait for my wife.” At that point, you excuse yourself from the table for a lengthy minute.

read more »