Tag Archives: Restaurant Biz

Rental Property

I’m the kinda guy who likes to be left alone while visiting the little boys room, especially at work.  I’m also fully aware that most people don’t really like to acknowledge that the people working in the restaurant they are dining in actually use the bathroom, so I generally am pretty intent on getting in and out with little fanfare.

Working in a bar, however, can offer it’s own unique obstacles that can interfere with my potty efficiencies.

Fast-forward to me, assuming the position at a discreet local which we will refer to solely as Urinal A, my head resting on my forearm that I have bracing myself against the wall, while my other is busy with, well, you know, when all of a sudden a unkempt gentleman with questionable hygiene announces his arrival by crashing into the bathroom and zig-zagging his way to Urinal B, nearly causing me to pee on my shoe when he bumped into me on his way.

I maintain my stoic gaze forward, trying to ignore the thick breathing as the guy tries to equip himself, when all of a sudden I hear a firehose-esque blast into the back of the porcelain, followed with a deep and satisfying sigh which made me wonder if a cigarette and some spooning might follow.  Instead I can feel his eyes shift over to me and I hear,

“You know you can only rent this, right?”

I meet his gaze and noticed that while he is facing me his eyes have crossed over with a dreamy glaze and a curly smirk is plastered on his face.

Zipping up and preparing to stomp on his foot before tossing him head-first into wall, I calmly respond, “Excuse me, Sir?”

“The beer, bro.  The beer.  You know you can only rent this shit bro!  For reeeeeaaal!”

I shoulda’ done it.  I so shoulda’ done it…

A Threatening Realization

Restaurant manager training can run havoc on a girl’s figure, even if that girl happens to be a dude built like a retired linebacker.  I knew going in that six weeks of systematically tasting every little bit of deep-fried and butter-bathed goodness on the menu was not going to do much for my waistline, but not until feeling my belt pinch while watching television on a day off halfway through did I realize how bad things might get.

In the spirit of being a good trooper I refused to weigh myself until my training was through; until tonight when I made my triumphant return to the gym to confront the carnage of having had to go UP a belt notch for the sake of my professional development.

+11lbs–SH!!!!!!!!!!!!T

So why am I so sensitive?

The first weekend after moving to Colorado Springs after my promotion to General Manager of the local Hooters (allow me to allow you a few moments to snicker…That never really gets old, does it?   Let us continue), two gentlemen were trashed at my bar in the middle of the afternoon.  As his companion basically sat comatose with his face nestled comfortably into my bartop, his buddy tried to order another round of shots from my bartender.  I stepped in and politely informed the personal hygienically-challenged patron that we would be unable to serve him another drink but would be happy to serve him a 20 piece with hopes that he choke on a chicken wing while the hot sauce melted a hole in his throat- I worded it a bit different, but you get the point.

It may have started innocently enough, but dude turned angry QUICK!

Anyways, needless to say said patron go a bit upset, shot off his stool sending it bouncing backwards off the floor, and started some kind of long tequila-induced spanish-voodoo curse that ended with the only words that I understood:

“I WILL DRAG YOU OUT INTO THAT PARKING LOT AND KICK YOUR FAT FUCKING ASS!!!”

Dude continued to loose his mind, and eventually with the aid of mall security my cooks, I was able to get him out the door with no harm done.  Except to my psyche, of course…all I could think about, all I kept hearing in my head, was not the threats of this guy even as he was escorted out in an arm-bar, but the fact he called me F-A-T!

Well, that was the motivation that I needed, and a few months and 50lbs later I was finally back to repectibility (and could run a mile without needing to stop and vomit  after 2 minutes).  And I suppose I have the tequila-sweating, spanish-voodoo drunk guy to thank for helping me get there.  In fact, if anyone knows where I might find him, let him know i still got a 20 piece with his name on them.

Oh, I still got his chicken, alright

Now if you will excuse me, I have to get to bed.  I have an early-morning spin class to get to.

Introducing My Quote of the Week!

For a few reasons, really, I have decided I need a gimmick.  I want to give my readers something to look forward to, while at the same time giving my blog an interactive touch.  And, truth be told, I can get lazy at times and feel I need a cop-out-type post I can rely on to get up relatively easily once a week.

Enter my fancy and well-intentioned Quote of the Week!

I yearn for the day where I don’t have to head off to a restaurant to earn a substantial part of my income.  But since that day still has yet to even approach my radar screen, I have elected to put a silver lining on my food service misery and create something all can enjoy.

We hear it all, people. Don't forget that...

Every Friday(-ish) from here on out, I will nominate the top five things I have heard while patrolling the aisle’s of my place of employment.  From disgruntled guests to perverted coworkers to, dare I predict the occasional submission from myself, help me to decide which one shall be named the Trimming Nosehairs’ Quote of the Week!

Here are this weeks top 5:

1. “Dude, I’m not kidding you…Jesus basically stole my girlfriend!”

2. “If you killed a female roommate, how would you dispose of the body?”

3. “Italy doesn’t have a red light district, but occasionally you see a house with a red light on it.”

4. “I don’t care what you say- I’m not touching your naked body!”

5. “I’m sorry, but it either tastes like sweat or soap.  There is nothing delicious about it!”