Let's just say I've been humbled. My ass has been kicked plenty of times working the floor, but I'm about to receive a firm, nasty, server ass-whooping this week. I got my ass handed to me slinging beers and chicken wings at Henry T's, but this is just another level. How I got to this level, I don't know. All I know is I went from having massive sections of beer-drinking, blue collar, ranch-obsessed, waffle fry-guzzling bar regulars to wine-sipping, white collar, salad-sophisticated, martini-loving, Lawrence patrons, and now... Well, let me begin.
Imagine Henry T's meets Ten in the heart of New York City and everyone speaks a different language, each of them claiming a different country. Extreme volume meets fine dining. That's where I work. Servers have anywhere from 15 to 20 tables, all of them occupied at once with a range of snobby New Yorkers and touring foreigners. We have 200 covers during lunch alone, and anywhere from 300-600 during dinner. Sales are usually $1,000-$2,000 a shift for each server.
Out of a list of about 10 servers, I'm the only Lauren, which is a first. My name fits in the shuffle of names like Africa, Carlos, Juan Carlos, Rodrigo, Tayaa, Voken, Lex, Jorge...You get the picture. I'm the only Kansan most of these people have ever met. I work with a Polish dude, a Moroccan man, an Argentinian bartender, a Costa Rican bartender, a Hungarian manager, a Turk, a French chef, and about 20 Mexicans. I'm the only one who doesn't speak fluent Spanish and I'm the only server under 30 years old, excluding a few girls I haven't met yet. Oh yea, and I have no New York serving experience whatsoever, which apparently is unheard of at this place.
I think me getting this job was divine intervention. I'm not exaggerating any of this. Every detail, down to the reason I walked into this restaurant, is completely true. I got this job after I responded to a Craigslist ad. I wasn't going to go to the open call for servers because I figured I was under-qualified, but then a dream convinced me I should. I trusted a dream. It sounds silly, but I figured, what do I have to lose? The worst thing that could happen was that I would walk into the place and the manager would laugh at my resume or ask me a question I couldn't answer. In fact, I fully expected that would happen.
I walked into this open call with my resume in hand — The first one I would hand out— and began filling out a fine dining questionnaire of sorts. It was about three pages long of questions about kitchen lingo, French techniques, wine, cheese, meat, etc. I sat surrounded by other applicants, most of them older men. I watched as others were called by the manager to interview until I eventually sat alone at the bar. About twenty minutes into the questionnaire I began feeling a tinge of confidence because I knew all of the answers. I was feeling good. Well, until the host approached me and told me the position had been filled and that I could stop filling out the questionnaire. Feeling disappointed and a little irritated that I had just wasted a cab ride, I asked if I could leave my resume. She said I could. When I saw the manager walk by, something came over me... A sense of determination I guess.
"Sir, may I please leave you my resume?" I asked, hoping he would atleast place a face with my name should he ever need additional help. He turned around, approached me, and reached for my resume. His eyes began to scan my resume, almost in a hurried fashion.
"Ah, French Culinary Institute, eh?" He asked in his French accent.
"Yes," I said. "I'll be attending the institute beginning next month." He then began reading the answers in my half-finished questionnaire, nodding in approval an he flipped through the stapled pages. I studied his face and his stiff stance.
"What do you like about Riesling?" He asked, pointing to the wine varietals I had listed.
Shit... I better have something good, I thought to myself. I don't even really love Riesling, I just had listed it as a varietal...
"Well, I like that Riesling is a gentle wine with fruity flavor. It can be a nice wine to pair with some salads and appetizers. It's summery." Nothing too detailed, just an honest answer.
A pause followed. He handed back my questionnaire, already turning his foot to walk away.
"Keep filling this out," he said.
I had no idea what was happening. I didn't know if I was getting an interview or if I was the daily entertainment. Either way, I did as the Frenchman said. When I finished I handed him my completed questionnaire, which he then handed to another suited man.
"Come sit over here," the other man said. We sat at a bar table as my resume was examined for a second round.
"Kansas, huh?" I began to anticipate the Wizard of Oz reference.
"I've heard Lawrence is a pretty happening place," he said. What a surprise, I thought. A positive reaction to Kansas. There's a first.
"So how long have you been in the city?" He asked.
"Two days." Even I was shocked.
"Well you're not doing too bad if you're getting a second interview off of 5th Avenue, now are you?"
What was happening?? First the position was full and now it wasn't?
"Go talk to this man at this address as this time tomorrow," he said, scribbling the details on a business card.
I was stunned. Thrilled. Speechless. Confused.
Longer story short: I got the job after I was drilled by another Frenchman in a a suit that was more starched than the first guy's get up. I dressed nicely, studied French culinary techniques and wines the night before, and I practiced my French pronunciation. When I arrived I waited an hour until I was led to the private area where I was questioned for twenty minutes and told that I looked like I was dressed more like a manager's assistant. After giving me a backhanded compliment, the big wig decided to give me a chance. I was pumped.
It probably sounds a bit crazy that as a college graduate I'm excited about a serving job, but it's really competitive here. Plus, I have to pay the bills somehow, and I'm not exactly qualified to dance on tables. In all honesty, this job is really good experience for me. Serving in NYC is the real world. I'm meeting people from around the world and I'm realizing how small the U.S. really is... I've never been so enlightened, truthfully. The restaurant business isn't a cake walk and it's not a good fit for the timid.
I'm trying to be tough. I was thrown on the floor my first day as a serving assistant and on my second day I took tables alone. An Austrian man made me cry after he lectured me about how unthoughtful Americans are about "the dining experience." His food was arriving too quickly, he said, and in Europe dining experiences are taken seriously. "You Americans, all you do is rush RUSH RUSH!!" The last thing I wanted was to ruin their American experience. I redeemed myself throughout the evening and he gave me a pat on the shoulder when he was done eating. He apologized for losing his cool.
I was completely trained by day three and scheduled to work doubles from that point forward. Many people have told me I'm lucky and that the manager doesn't hire people with less than six years of New York City experience. One of the first things he said, in fact, was, "Don't embarrass me."
I've made flashcards about the menu, studied wine, and taken just about every word of advice from the servers. All of them have emphasize that I can't screw-up, not if I want to keep my job. Yesterday one of the cooks got my attention and told me to calm down because I looked so tense. It was my first shift with the boss and I was nervous. "Don't worry about it , girl," the Boston cook said. "He bleeds the same blood we do. You'll be fine, woman. I know it." Atleast he doesn't think I'm the Kansas girl who is going to crumble.
Today was my first busy lunch shift working under the boss's supervision and he actually told me I did a good job, so at least I'm off to a good start. Pray for me. I can't have another boss throw spoons at me and call me a retard, especially in French (yes, that happened to me once...).
Seriously, pray for me. I can't crumble.
