I fit right in in such a place.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
No more corn at Toro...
...was an April Fool's joke.
Thanks for all who expressed concern for my plight!
Thanks for all who expressed concern for my plight!
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
No Corn for the Weary
As we all know, it's cause for major, major crisis when we run out of the corn at Toro. You can read about my past painful experiences with this here and here.
In fact, while I was filling in as a manager at Toro, I had to make an emergency corn run to Stop & Shop at 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night, just to avoid such a disaster. I called the Mathematician from South Bay Center to have him help calculate how much corn to buy. My shopping cart was half full of corn and nothing else, causing other shoppers to gawk and even talk about me loudly in Spanish in the check out line.
For Toro waitstaff, running out of corn is pretty much the worst thing ever. 4 out of 5 tables bitch about it, and some guests even get up and walk out, even after waiting half an hour for a table. And while I love and respect our chef and think he has done some amazing things for the restaurant since he came on board in November, I'm not so sure about his latest menu change:
"As of tomorrow, we're only going to be serving the corn seasonally at Toro, in a move to exclusively support local farmers," Jamie told us at pre-meal."
"But...but...but...people freak out if they can't have the corn!" Juan said.
"They can still have the corn," Jamie said, "just seasonally. In late July, August, and September. It's something I feel really strongly about, and Ken and I think it's going to be really great." He was visibly annoyed, so we all just nodded: yes, chef.
I don't know about the other servers, but I am mentally preparing for riots. Big, hunger-induced, angry riots.
In fact, while I was filling in as a manager at Toro, I had to make an emergency corn run to Stop & Shop at 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night, just to avoid such a disaster. I called the Mathematician from South Bay Center to have him help calculate how much corn to buy. My shopping cart was half full of corn and nothing else, causing other shoppers to gawk and even talk about me loudly in Spanish in the check out line.
For Toro waitstaff, running out of corn is pretty much the worst thing ever. 4 out of 5 tables bitch about it, and some guests even get up and walk out, even after waiting half an hour for a table. And while I love and respect our chef and think he has done some amazing things for the restaurant since he came on board in November, I'm not so sure about his latest menu change:
"As of tomorrow, we're only going to be serving the corn seasonally at Toro, in a move to exclusively support local farmers," Jamie told us at pre-meal."
"But...but...but...people freak out if they can't have the corn!" Juan said.
"They can still have the corn," Jamie said, "just seasonally. In late July, August, and September. It's something I feel really strongly about, and Ken and I think it's going to be really great." He was visibly annoyed, so we all just nodded: yes, chef.
I don't know about the other servers, but I am mentally preparing for riots. Big, hunger-induced, angry riots.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Dreams...
I awake with a start when the Mathematician comes back into the bedroom to get dressed after his shower:
"I just had the craziest dream," I tell him.
"I had weird dreams, too. I bet yours weren't as weird as mine."
"Mr.T was in it and I was really pissed at him," I say, rubbing my eyes as I sit up. "We got into a huge fight."
"A fight with Mr. T, huh? I bet I know who won that battle."
"No way, man," I say, "I was winning. I threw a pile of junk mail at his head. What was yours?"
"It was about the moral struggle I felt when I hired a hermaphrodite as an intern at work, and was then forced to fire...uh, them...because they weren't competent. I didn't want them to think it was because of...you know..."
"Hermaphrodite discrimination? Yeah, that's pretty weird. That all you got?" I say.
"No. That happened, then I introduced George [the owner of Giorgiana's] to my dad and they started wrestling. Playfully."
I'm still not sure who won.
"I just had the craziest dream," I tell him.
"I had weird dreams, too. I bet yours weren't as weird as mine."
"Mr.T was in it and I was really pissed at him," I say, rubbing my eyes as I sit up. "We got into a huge fight."
"A fight with Mr. T, huh? I bet I know who won that battle."
"No way, man," I say, "I was winning. I threw a pile of junk mail at his head. What was yours?"
"It was about the moral struggle I felt when I hired a hermaphrodite as an intern at work, and was then forced to fire...uh, them...because they weren't competent. I didn't want them to think it was because of...you know..."
"Hermaphrodite discrimination? Yeah, that's pretty weird. That all you got?" I say.
"No. That happened, then I introduced George [the owner of Giorgiana's] to my dad and they started wrestling. Playfully."
I'm still not sure who won.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
hate + love: a waitress's tale
PART I: HATE
"Ma'am? Excuse me. Uh, ma'am?"
Surely the mid- to late-thirtysomethings at Table 52 aren't beckoning ME. I look over my shoulder - perhaps there's an older woman standing behind me with whom they'd like to speak? The guy with salt-n-pepper hair gives a little wave. Oh. They DID mean me.
"Um, yeah?" I say.
"Is it okay if we write on this menu?"
No! I think, It is clearly NOT okay if you write on the menu. Do you see little check marks next to each tapas item? Did I supply you with a pen and pencil? Would you walk into No. 9 Park or even the Butcher Shop and start scribbling all over their menu? What kind of animal are you?
"Sure," I say instead, since he has already started sullying it up with red ink. "Of course. Go right ahead."
I head to the service bar to collect their mojitos.
"Dude, Table 52 called me ma'am," I lament to the barback.
"They didn't mean it, Kitty. They didn't mean it," he consoles me.
"I don't care. I now hate them."
PART II: LOVE
"Here are your mojitos," I say, careful to conceal my contempt as I hand them their drinks. "Did you have any questions? Are you ready to order?"
"Hey," the salt-n-pepper guy says, "You look just like that woman in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Know who I'm talking about?" he says. His companions, two men with accents and a pretty brunette woman, nod and murmur "Yes...she does...mmm-hmmm."
"You mean the blonde chick?" I say. "Scarlett Johannson?"
"Yes! Scarlett Johannson," he says.
"That's a pretty hefty compliment," I say, "She's pretty hot. She's also one of my favorite actresses."
"Yup, you look just like her," he says. Then, to his friends: "You know, she's the most beautiful woman in the world according to this magazine I just read." They nod and murmur "Yes...Scarlett Johannson is the most beautiful woman in the world and our waitress looks exactly like her...mmm-hmmm."
And just like that I love them.
"Ma'am? Excuse me. Uh, ma'am?"
Surely the mid- to late-thirtysomethings at Table 52 aren't beckoning ME. I look over my shoulder - perhaps there's an older woman standing behind me with whom they'd like to speak? The guy with salt-n-pepper hair gives a little wave. Oh. They DID mean me.
"Um, yeah?" I say.
"Is it okay if we write on this menu?"
No! I think, It is clearly NOT okay if you write on the menu. Do you see little check marks next to each tapas item? Did I supply you with a pen and pencil? Would you walk into No. 9 Park or even the Butcher Shop and start scribbling all over their menu? What kind of animal are you?
"Sure," I say instead, since he has already started sullying it up with red ink. "Of course. Go right ahead."
I head to the service bar to collect their mojitos.
"Dude, Table 52 called me ma'am," I lament to the barback.
"They didn't mean it, Kitty. They didn't mean it," he consoles me.
"I don't care. I now hate them."
PART II: LOVE
"Here are your mojitos," I say, careful to conceal my contempt as I hand them their drinks. "Did you have any questions? Are you ready to order?"
"Hey," the salt-n-pepper guy says, "You look just like that woman in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Know who I'm talking about?" he says. His companions, two men with accents and a pretty brunette woman, nod and murmur "Yes...she does...mmm-hmmm."
"You mean the blonde chick?" I say. "Scarlett Johannson?"
"Yes! Scarlett Johannson," he says.
"That's a pretty hefty compliment," I say, "She's pretty hot. She's also one of my favorite actresses."
"Yup, you look just like her," he says. Then, to his friends: "You know, she's the most beautiful woman in the world according to this magazine I just read." They nod and murmur "Yes...Scarlett Johannson is the most beautiful woman in the world and our waitress looks exactly like her...mmm-hmmm."
And just like that I love them.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Ring Redux
I was pretty much beside myself with excitement when I finally got home last night after a long slow waitressing shift at Toro and found the check for my engagement ring in my mailbox. I almost tore it right open in the foyer.
I can't believe it, I thought as I climbed up the stairs towards my fourth floor walk-up. After holding on to that damn thing for 3+ years, I'm finally free of it - and richer for it! Whatever will I do with the money?
Then, as I rounded the corner between flights 2 and 3, a more rational voice inside my head reminded me: No matter how much they offer you for the ring, it will never feel like enough.
I shrugged off my coat and threw my bag and apron on the floor when I reached the top floor, bracing for the possibilities as I tore the envelope open. But no amount of practical reasoning could have prepared me for what I found:
A check made out to me in the amount of $120.44.
That's not even enough to pay my damn cell phone bill.
While I didn't expect to be magically rich from the sale of my engagement ring setting, I know the damn thing appraised for ten times as much when it given to me back in 2002. I have no idea how jewelry sales works, if these things tend to appreciate or depreciate in value. But I know I can't sell it for $120.44. I not that desperate for money. And I am definitely too proud.
Now I have to call Customer Service and ask them to send the damn thing back to me. And think of something else to do with this vestige of my former life.
Boo jewelry site.
Boo old engagement ring.
Boo trying to place monetary value on sentimental things.
I can't believe it, I thought as I climbed up the stairs towards my fourth floor walk-up. After holding on to that damn thing for 3+ years, I'm finally free of it - and richer for it! Whatever will I do with the money?
Then, as I rounded the corner between flights 2 and 3, a more rational voice inside my head reminded me: No matter how much they offer you for the ring, it will never feel like enough.
I shrugged off my coat and threw my bag and apron on the floor when I reached the top floor, bracing for the possibilities as I tore the envelope open. But no amount of practical reasoning could have prepared me for what I found:
A check made out to me in the amount of $120.44.
That's not even enough to pay my damn cell phone bill.
While I didn't expect to be magically rich from the sale of my engagement ring setting, I know the damn thing appraised for ten times as much when it given to me back in 2002. I have no idea how jewelry sales works, if these things tend to appreciate or depreciate in value. But I know I can't sell it for $120.44. I not that desperate for money. And I am definitely too proud.
Now I have to call Customer Service and ask them to send the damn thing back to me. And think of something else to do with this vestige of my former life.
Boo jewelry site.
Boo old engagement ring.
Boo trying to place monetary value on sentimental things.
Monday, February 09, 2009
The post office
Significant things that happened at the post office today:
1. I mailed the check to activate my very first month of my very own individual, independent health insurance plan. It's f***ing expensive, but it's mine, I chose it all by myself (which was much more challenging than it sounds), and I love it.
2. I returned the contract to the publisher for my very first book project. No, it's not a book length version of Undercover Blonde, or the LUPEC book project, it's definitely not what I ever would have imagined my first book project to be, and I'm just a "researcher" on it. But it's my first one and for that reason, I love it too.
3. I sold my engagement ring setting. You know, this thing?
That has been lying around my apartment acting as a paperweight for all of my bills collecting dust? I FINALLY sent it in to this website which I read about in Daily Candy a really long time ago.
The post office woman looked at me like I was crazy when I told her I wanted to insure the humble looking box I used to send it. When the transaction was complete, she threw it into the bin of mail behind her as if it was just some piece of junk and walked away.
That's it? I thought. I stood on my tiptoes and peered over the counter at the box laying atop a mountain of small envelopes. For a second I considered waving someone over to ask for it back, but all of the post office personnel had mysteriously disappeared. Yup, that's it.
Then I burst into tears. I guess the sudden meaninglessness of a piece of jewelry that had once been so significant just got to me. Or perhaps it's because tossing that old thing in the mail symbolized that I am finally, truly moving on from the relationship that defined my 20s. And the end of an era is always a little bit sad. I cried the entire way home.
Then, when I got home, I popped open a bottle of cava to celebrate because I really love my life right now, and I'm twice the woman I used to be.
So I raised a glass to myself, without whom none of this would be possible.
1. I mailed the check to activate my very first month of my very own individual, independent health insurance plan. It's f***ing expensive, but it's mine, I chose it all by myself (which was much more challenging than it sounds), and I love it.
2. I returned the contract to the publisher for my very first book project. No, it's not a book length version of Undercover Blonde, or the LUPEC book project, it's definitely not what I ever would have imagined my first book project to be, and I'm just a "researcher" on it. But it's my first one and for that reason, I love it too.
3. I sold my engagement ring setting. You know, this thing?
That has been lying around my apartment acting as a paperweight for all of my bills collecting dust? I FINALLY sent it in to this website which I read about in Daily Candy a really long time ago.
The post office woman looked at me like I was crazy when I told her I wanted to insure the humble looking box I used to send it. When the transaction was complete, she threw it into the bin of mail behind her as if it was just some piece of junk and walked away.
That's it? I thought. I stood on my tiptoes and peered over the counter at the box laying atop a mountain of small envelopes. For a second I considered waving someone over to ask for it back, but all of the post office personnel had mysteriously disappeared. Yup, that's it.
Then I burst into tears. I guess the sudden meaninglessness of a piece of jewelry that had once been so significant just got to me. Or perhaps it's because tossing that old thing in the mail symbolized that I am finally, truly moving on from the relationship that defined my 20s. And the end of an era is always a little bit sad. I cried the entire way home.
Then, when I got home, I popped open a bottle of cava to celebrate because I really love my life right now, and I'm twice the woman I used to be.
So I raised a glass to myself, without whom none of this would be possible.
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