Professionalism is key

"Walk the restaurant and find something to do!" That's all that the managers tell the servers and they constantly talk to one another. It's dead season. This means that from July up until the end of October, restaurants are slow. People are recuperating from back to school and getting their schedules back on track. Therefore, servers have to find a way to make it through the hardship. 

So as I continue to talk the restaurant, looking for something to distract me from wanting to fall asleep standing up (been done before), I hear my coworkers talking about something sounding scandalous. 

"Did you see her?" "Damn, she's so hot." "I hope they hire her." 

Didn't talk too long to realize that after glancing at the cocktail area, there was the girl that they were all cat-calling at. She was sitting down at table 503. Blonde, shoulder-length hair. Heavy makeup with bright purple eye shadow. Her top only covered her front area, barely her cleavage. Her jeans were those purposely washed out and ripped around the knees. As she is filling out the application, I can hear my managers laughing and giggling. 

They continuously kept asking if she was being serious. Thinking that she would be getting hired after coming to a job interview dressed unprofessionally. They then proceeded her way when it looked like she was done with the interview. Everyone deserves a second chance, so they gave her another to come back tomorrow, dressed more professional. 

Safe to say she did not get hired. And not because of her previous attire. She was not hired after she was asked if she had experience in the food industry and was able to carry a tray. Lets just say that the tray did a back flip in the middle of the dinning room. 

The struggle is real

Walk in to the resturant and feel the family environment, first date jitters, and business conversations that discuss "important topics" over three margaritas. Behind the scenes, of the delicious food are the servers that are continuously "weeded."Weeded can be used as the removal of unwanted plants.
In the Saltgrass world, weeded signifies a plea for help because the server/cook/manager is about to looks their damn mind.
Saturday am/pm exchange is usually a smooth transition. The servers from the morning are released from hell as the night crew is joining the fiesta. Walk to the back of the kitchen and hear the cooks bashing the server that had a pocket ticket (late order) for over 30 minutes and now wants the food on the fly. The shelfer, who expos the food and makes sure that it goes out the window looking amazing, complains about the servers leaving the condiments scattered everywhere. Servers go back to the kitchen and argue with the cooks on how their table 62, seat 3, needs an upcook because their Pat's ribeye was too raw for the guest's liking. And they forgot to add the smothered topping! Cooks then tell the shelfers to pass on the message on how they no longer have rice at the moment. "86 rice! Pass it on, let everyone know!"
The restaurant is pretty slow for a saturday night. Then…BAM. Big pop at 7:30 with two tops coming in left and right and large parties of seven walking behind them. For servers, this can only mean one thing…Double sat, the rest of the night. Maybe even triple!
The only thing that can come to one's mind at that point is the nice cold beer to go along with their prolonged rant with the other fallen.

Saltgrass Steakhouse's A Series of Unfortunate Events

Welcomed by the restaurant to the smell of melted jack cheese, burned sirloin (as most prefer it that way) and tropical sangrias. I walk to the back and avoid the fact that my tummy is screaming for a piece of bread that is being kept warm in the industrial oven.
Walk away from my boss after being yelled at that my apron is a tad too wrinkled and he can see the ceases that go down the back of my black button down.
The host grabs my attention as she tells me my first table has been sat.
Okay. Walk over with the biggest fake smile that I usually have on my face daily at work.
Table of four with a a lady that looks like she has an issue with not having a booth of her choice and looking at me as though I am walking to slow for her liking.
Welcome them to choosing to dine with us and immediately I'm interrupted by the mom asking for an unsweet peach tea and then ordering for everyone else.
Balancing their drinks and Shiner beer bock bread on a large tray on my shoulder is not as easy as it looks.
After placing the first drink on the table I am bombarded with their feast, I mean order, and ask them to patiently wait as I am in the middle of dropping off their drinks.
Double check their order. As I am leaving the table I feel a tap on my waist to see the mom shaking her glass in the air for another refill. I ask if I can get them anything else before I return. She shakes her head no as if I asked a ridiculous question. Return with her drink and as I leave again I hear her snapping her fingers rapidly like there were about to create a flame. She glared and said I forgot her ranch. Smile back and respond with a slow nod. As I poor the ranch in the ramekin, it lands on my shoe. GREAT.
Drop off the ranch and mumble as I walk away, "There's your darn ranch."