What a GREAT Day!

Thursday night I was up late trying to crank out my paper proposal for Theatre History when really nothing was inspiring me this semester. Finally I decided that before I finish up with my theatre history courses, I should dive into a dramaturgical analysis. And because the research our group did sparked my interest, I stuck with Pseudolus. It was still difficult to put together though, & probably took twice as long as it should have because I was distracted with a *minor* emotional breakdown. I had gone to see the Miss Julie preview & watching Irene onstage, not to mention a bunch of other people I knew, I was so jealous. And it happens to me a lot when I see shows while I’m not in one. Especially when I know the people in the cast. I really need to clean my slate with another performance, cause right now the last thing I was in was the haunt. And as fun as that was, it’s got so much bad blood smeared on the window to the memories that colours the whole experience. I got to sleep around three & slept in accidentally.

With a class at 8 am, a house 15 minutes away from campus, a car 5 minutes away from the house (try parking at 3 am. EVERYONE is home.) & a clock that read 7:35 when I opened my eyes, I thought I had started the day badly. I threw on the first clothes I could get my hands on, grabbed my things & ran to the car. I brushed my hair at the ridiculously long light at Joan & Loch Raven with the brush I keep in the glove compartment. I made it to class with 5 minutes to spare. Having such a bad night so few hours ago, I barely saw this day coming.

It’s the little things, really. Class went smoothly & I had a productive four hour break between classes & work. And then everything was brilliant from there on out. At 3:30, I stepped outside & didn’t notice. That’s how utterly perfect the weather was. I got to work & instead of my usual parking space somewhere on the other side of the lot, there were two free spaces such that I could pull through (which I try to do as often as possible) RIGHT in front of The Crackpot. Noticing the weather & the space, I got my first inkling that I was having a great day. I clocked in, did my side work & set out to roll silverware for a while. In the process of rolling silverware, I grab a bunch of napkins, count what I need, & put the rest back. Then I grab a bunch of napkin bands & again, put the leftovers back in the drawer when I’m done. I grabbed the exact number of napkins I needed AND the exact number of bands. And I realized I was in a probability inverse. And it was everywhere. All of a sudden, the entire wait-staff was talking about what a good day they were all having – except maybe Donna who was still feeling ill. Better, but ill. She said, “Ripley, roll my silverware.” And Cheryl’s face & vocal reaction were priceless when I said, “Okay.” It seems that lately, people have been displaying more shock over my level of obedience. April was joking the other day when she walked over & told me to get up, but I was up before she could tell me she was joking.

And the specials changed. It may not seem like it can make a big difference, but this was a big part of my good day. We have the Flat Iron Surf & Turf again. I am ordering one of those before they run out. Let me explain this dish to you . . . There’s a breaded potato cake on top of which is a sliced steak . . . on top of which are the most wonderful caramelized onions you’ve ever had. That’s the turf. The surf is the brilliance that some amazing chef somewhere once started & should never ever stop. Scallops wrapped in bacon. There are few things that are unique to the Crackpot that really tempt me. The one highest in the ranks is the Flat Iron Surf & Turf . . . & it’s back.

The night was WONDERFUL. It started off slowly, but picked up & the restaurant was fairly full. All my tables were great & were good to me when the check came. One table knew where my name came from. That’s always a plus. I hear, “Believe it or Not” so much that it’s a real treat to come across someone who pulls up the right reference first.

And the nine-top was the highlight of my night. They had reserved three dozen 55s & a dozen 45s. That’s $210 right there. And they ordered rather a few pitchers of beer, some appetizers, & one guy had an entrée. By the time they were ready for their check, it was over $300. And I could tell that they were going to take care of me – in the first few seconds of speaking to them, I got the whole table to laugh at a stupid joke & it’s that kind of stuff that lets me know. One person ordered water & another said “Oh, no, it’s *Baltimore pronunciation of water* down here.”
“Not with me, it’s not.”
“Oh? Are you not from around here?”
“No, I grew up here.”
“How do you say water?”
“Water . . . cause that’s how it’s *spelled.*”
The whole table laughed & the woman closest to me gave me a high five. So I knew they were fun from the start & they stayed fun, but out of habit, I still did my trick. With parties of five or more, you have the *option* to add %15 gratuity to the check. All the other servers use their judgment. I attempt to eliminate the margin of error. I say to the table, “With parties of five or more, we can add a %15 percent gratuity to the check. Some people think it’s rude. Other people don’t want to do the math. Do you want me to add that on?” And what that does is 1. Takes away the possibility for the impression that adding on the gratuity was rude, because I’ve asked, 2. Gets me brownie points for giving them the option, 3. If they’re trying to stiff me, it makes them address it to my face by having them ask me not to add the gratuity which taps into their guilt level.

So I asked if the nine-top wanted the gratuity added & he said, “Oh, yeah, I expect it.” So I went over & hit the grat button & my tip is $47. Awesome. Then they pay & leave. They left me an extra twenty. Bringing my tip for one table up to my lucky number 67. Good day. Such a good, good day. And I managed to keep everything under control for a whole lot longer than I had expected. With a full dining room, I wasn’t in the weeds until 8 pm. And once you’re weeded, it’s oh so hard to pull out of the tailspin. I’d been triple-seated because my section was the only one that was open & I was running drinks & appetizers & soups & this & that & some guy brought his own little container of I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter & wanted me to melt some in the microwave for him. That’s the kind of nonsense that keeps you weeded until things die down considerably. But I managed to regain control by 9. And by the way . . . while I’m talking about things that keep you in the weeds once you’re there . . . please, people. If you need five things, tell your waitress you need five things. I swear, this happened so many times.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Uh, yeah, could we get some more napkins?”
“Sure.”
*More napkins*
And I ask again . . . just as a formality, really . . .
“Do you need anything else?”
“Yeah, could we get some more cocktail sauce.”
“Absolutely.”
*More cocktail sauce*
“Need anything else?”
“Um, yeah, could I get a refill?”
“Sure thing.”
*Refill*
“Do you need anything else?”
“Yeah . . . could we get some melted butter?”
“Yep.”
*Melted butter*
“Need anything else?”
“Uh . . . nope, I think we’re good.”

And it’s not like I run off too fast or anything. They really just want to see me walk back & forth fifty times. C’mon. Get it together. You want napkins, sauce, a refill, & some melted butter. I can handle it all at once. They give us trays, donchya know.

My autonomic dysfunction got to me a little & possibly the anemia . . . I need to get back on those iron pills . . . but I had to take a few minutes to chug some water cause right after I got out of the weeds, I was starting to get really dizzy. And the heat in the kitchen never helps. Cari introduced me to an interesting concept today that I’m not sure if I like or don’t . . . she fills a glass of water & dumps cucumber slices in there. It’s good for you & tastes kinda nice. Nicer than water by itself for sure. I insisted on having one sip & had an interesting experience with a seed that distracted from the taste a bit . . . I’ll have to try it when I have time to sit & have a glass.

The night was wonderful & my raw tips came to $180. Once I tipped out the bar & busboy, I was a little over $160 & I had tried to give Larry $10 for being such a help – cause every time he’s the manager, before it even starts to get ridiculous, he’s in the kitchen, prepping plates. He refused, I tried to push, but not too hard . . . he was after all on a manager’s pay & I was on a waitress’s pay. He took the thanks, but not the money & I drove home, singing in the car & noticing briefly the five cop cars surrounding some guy’s pickup truck in the parking lot that was getting searched & had one last surge of appreciation for my great day.