Tuesday, December 20, 2005

You've Cod to be Kidding Me

Woman #1: Soooo... what are you getting to eat?

Woman #2: I'm getting the spare ribs.

Woman #1: The spare ribs?

Woman #2: Yeah, it was either that or the cod. I had to ask Mary what cod was because I was all, like, "I don't know what cod is! What's cod?" I'm not eating cod.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Never Underestimate the Powers of Y.E.L.R.A.!

What a wonderful evening I had. The restaurant is not usually open for lunch, but today they made an exception. A large party was held in the afternoon. While I was not present for this party, I caught the tail end of it. It was still going on when I arrived to work at 6 p.m.

Of course the restroom was a pig sty. In fact, someone had puked in one of the stalls. That was a fine "how do you do?"

It took about a half an hour to get the restroom back into order. Once that was done everything was back to normal. As the evening progressed, it became quite obvious that people were having a little too much fun.

At 8 p.m. a man announced to me that he was drunk. He wasn't the only one.

I had to prevent many couples from going into a stall together. I think I counted 9 separate occasions where I had to lay the law down.

Couple Number Eight takes the cake.

Oh, Couple Number Eight!

I first came into contact with the man earlier in the evening. I had noticed that he had just a tad bit too much testosterone running through his body. Every comment was very crass and he thought he was extremely funny. An audience of one is not a good thing.

When it came to their moment in the sun, I asked them nicely to not go into the stall together. He told me he was going to do it anyway.

Big mistake.

In fact, that was mistake #1.

(Wait until you get to mistake #2. It's a doozy.)

I told the meathead that I would not allow him to go into the stall with her.

"Dude, she's my wife," he stated rather monosyllabic. "She's not going to suck my dick or anything."

That's when I decided that I was not going to take his shit. I told him that I had asked him nicely and it was rather rude that he was not listening to me. He reluctantly left the stall. As I went about my business, he decided that he would revert to name calling. He started calling me such clever names as "fag" and "queer."

Mistake #2 Alert

The words were meaningless. He was just trying to get me upset. Boy howdy, did he get me upset! I started to walk right in his direction. He knew I was pissed.

"You wanna come at me? Come on!" he shouted.

At this point I acted rationally. Just like a good ninja does, I remembered my training. When I was first hired I was told that if there was any situation I found myself in where I was not comfortable, leave the restroom. I did that exact thing. I walked right past this idiot with his puffed out chest. All the while this lunkhead just barked threats at me.

I immediately found a co-worker and explained the situation. He said he would take care of it and told me to get a manager. He said we were going to kick the guy out.

That's right! I got a "guest" kicked out of the restaurant.

There is nothing more satisfying than instant karma. That's what he gets for being a dick.

The rest of evening was fun. I felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted off of me. The last week or so had been rough and somewhat stressful. It was a very cathartic moment.

I spoke to my managers later on. They said that they would always back me up should something like that happen ever again. Their take on it was that they did not want any of their employees in a threatening situation.

As I was leaving the restaurant at the end of the night, I stopped to talk to one of the valets. He said that he witnessed the lunkhead leaving the restaurant. All the man could do was scream "fucking faggots" as he left. The Valet thought that the guy was real intelligent and was happy to see him go.

Remember, please be kind to whomever you come into contact with. Instant karma's gonna get you. Gonna look you right in the face. Better get yourself together darlin'. Join the human race. How in the world you gonna see, laughing at fools like me? Who in the hell d'’you think you are, a superstar? Thanks John Lennon, you're the best. Even though I'm more of a George Harrison guy, you still rock better than Sir Paul.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Aaah... the Holidays. I mean, AAAAARRRGGHHH! THE HOLIDAYS!

Oh, man. I cannot wait for the holidays to be over.

It's not that I'm a Scrooge or anything. I'm just tired of dealing with really drunk people and/or idiots. I'll give you some fine examples:

Example #1:

A drunk man walks in. I let him know that the third stall down is open. He immediately went to the first stall and started pushing. Since it was occupied and locked, he was having some difficulties.

"No, sir," I said,"the third stall."

Of course he went to the second stall a met with the same problems.

"Sir, the third stall."

I counted them aloud, one, two, three as if playing 'Duck, Duck, Goose' with the stall doors.

"Oh," he said, "I've never been here before. Sorry."

Sure, that made sense.

Example #2:

Towards the end of the evening a woman attempted to wash her hands. Admittedly, the method of getting water out of the tap is rather confusing. People often think that it's motion-sensored because the design has the handles hanging under a small ledge. It's all asthetically pleasing, but confusing. Part of my job is to explain how it works.

I noticed that this woman -- who was pretty damn drunk at this point -- was having some problems. She just cupped her hand under the handle and waited for the water to come out. Of course, nothing happened. That's when I came in.

"Just pull up, ma'am" I said in a rather calm voice.

"What?" she slurred.

"Pull up."

By this point I was getting a little testy, but I was trying to remain calm. It was a crappy night. People really were trying my patience last evening.

"What?" she slurred again. "I don't get it."

She continued to cup her hand under the handle.

"Watch me," I said. I then went to the faucet right next to her and pulled up. Like magic, water came out of the taps!

"Oh..." she sang, "thank you very much."

When she was finished, she walked -- if you can call it that -- out of the restroom while grinning and thanking me several times. Sure, she was nice, but annoying.

Example #3:

A man walked into the restroom. He was dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and what looked to be hiking boots. As you can probably surmise, we don't normally see lumberjacks in our restaurant.

"This is pretty fancy!" he exclaimed while scoping out the restroom.

If you know you're going to a nice restaurant, dress nice. Especially if it's for a holiday party. Your co-workers and/or friends will thank you for it. People are not going to take you seriously if you look like you're about to fell a redwood tree. Shouting about how fancy a place isn't going to help the situation, either.


So, I'm thinking that most of the people who read this work in an office situation with friends of mine. Thanks for reading. Thanks to my friends for spreading the word. Have a great holiday. I'll be posting a little for the next week. So, if you get a chance to surf the net while out of the office, think of Your Ever-Lovin' Restroom Attendant and stop by.

By the way, I'm working on New Years Eve. I'm pretty positive that I'll have plenty of stories to tell.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The Elevator Story

Lost Man: "Does this elevator go down?"

Y.E.L.R.A.: "No, it goes up."

Lost Man: "Up?"

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Up."

Lost Man: "Well, how do I go down?"

Y.E.L.R.A.: "There is no down, just up."

Lost Man: "No down?

Y.E.L.R.A.: "No down."

Lost Man: "Well, I need to get out of this building."

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Ok, then take the elevator up, walk through the restaurant, and go out the front door."

You'd think that he would notice the the button to call the elevator only had an "up" button. Plus, the lack of windows in the basement would really indicate to me that we are nowhere near street level. Some people need things spelled out for them.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The Knight in Armor with a Dull Finish

Along with the holidays comes increased drinking.

Along with increased drinking comes vomiting.

As you know from previous posts, I come in contact with vomiters. It's not the most pleasant part of my job, but I'm really not responsible for cleaning up such messes. Thank the Lord for small favors.

Last Friday evening a woman entered a stall and was in there for fifteen or so minutes. I though nothing of it because it was a little busy.

After she exited, a man used the stall. He came out and said, "Someone vomited in there. I thought you'd like to know that."

I thanked him, thinking he was the responsible party. I then put two and two together. He was not in there long enough to do such damage. Quickly I came to the conclusion that the woman that used the stall before him was responsible.

I chose to ignore the stall and direct people to other stalls. I did not want to deal with it.

Until I saw her again.

She came in and waited for me to direct her to a stall. As I turned around I noticed she was talking to a couple. All were members of the same Christmas party. They asked her if she was okay and she gave rather morose looking shake of the head. She then puffed up her cheeks as if she was holding her breath.

That is something that will be forever etched in my brain.

I was not about to take any chances. I directed her to the same stall she used previously. Why dirty up more than one? Her stall was already dirty.

She spent the next 45 minutes or so in the stall. As time ticked on I became increasingly concerned. What if she was passed out? What if she bonked her head on the toilet and was now in a coma? What if she was dead? These are things I have to consider, y'know?

With the help of my manager we tracked down someone in the party to go and talk to her. She requested her husband and he came to the rescue. (Okay, not really, but you'll soon find out that he was not really a knight in shining armor.) He entered the stall and stayed in there with her for about another 20 minutes.

Eventually he came out of the stall. I asked if she was okay. He said she was and that he was going to go get her stuff so they could leave.

A half an hour later he eventually came to get her. They finally left. She looked like death warmed over. End of story.

This begs the question: Where was he this whole time?

I'd be extremely concerned if my fiance went missing for an hour or so. Especially in a small party of 20 or 30 people in a restaurant. I could easily be distracted for a while talking to friends, but I would eventually seek her out to see how she was or to kiss her.

Additionally I would hope that if someone saw that she was ill that they would tell me.

I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Time flies sometimes and when you're engrossed in a conversation you tend to lose track of things.

However, if I left my fiance in a stall the size of my kitchen pantry for an additional half an hour after I promised to get her things so we could leave, she would not be too happy about it. What the hell was this guy thinking?

Some people.

My New Powers

I recently found out that I have new powers.

I can tell the bartenders to cut someone off if they've had a little too much to drink.

I guess it goes without saying that I'm the person who would pay the most attention to people in the restaurant. I come into contact with the most people. Plus, I interact with them more. Hell, I have nothing better to do.

As the night progresses -- and this is most true of Friday and Saturday nights -- I watch people slowly (or in some cases quickly) get drunk. When they first come the the restroom, they have full control of their appendages. By 10pm some people can barely put one foot in front of the other. There are those people that I can zero out and recognize from the get go that they will be drunk as the night continues. Others surprise me.

Last week we had a corporate Christmas party take over the bottom floor. An Indian gentleman held the distinction of the drunkest man of the evening. So much so that he vomited in a stall. Most people are very discreet about vomiting and he was no exception. I did not know he was vomiting until he walked out of the stall and then rinsed his mouth out at the sink. That's always a bad sign for me. I know that when this happens, someone's trying to get a nasty taste out of their mouth.

After he left I checked the stall and, sure enough, it smelled pretty ripe. It was then I approached the bartender and told him to cut the gentleman off. The bartender told me that I should never be afraid to tell any of the other bartenders the same.

I guess in an age of frivolous lawsuits our restaurant could easily be sued for something like selling too many drinks. I'm positive I've read something like that in the past.

It's pretty exciting to know that I have such powers. I could easily abuse them. I'm now tempted to cut off any asshole that is mean to me. It'll never happen, but I can always dream.

Friday, December 09, 2005

'Tis the Season

So, since this is the holiday season the restaurant is booked solid this month with parties. Lots of parties.

Lots of parties with open bars.

Open bars paid by employers.

***The following is directed to the clientel of my restaurant.***

A word to the wise: If your employer springs for a large party with an open bar, make sure you bring enough money to tip people. Tips are never included when restaurants figure out the price for a party. The price is mainly for food and using the space.

Bartenders, servers, valets, hostesses, and yes, even restroom attendants need money during the holidays. Like you, they buy Christmas gifts for loved ones. If you don't tip them, then they have to buy shitty gifts for people.

It's not mandatory that you tip someone who helps you out, but it is customary. You make yourself look like an asshole if you ignore the help. Especially when your drunk ass embarrasses yourself and we have to deal with it. There's nothing worse than seeing a bunch of self-serving idiots getting drunk. How about a little appreciation?


Sorry. I had to vent there for a second.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

The Night I Met Wolverine

Yeah, this one is so much better than possibly meeting Matthew Perry or rumours of Will Smith coming to the restaurant. Celebrity sightings are a dime a dozen down there in La La Land, but over here we still get starstruck every so often. Tonight was the first time I was starstruck while working at this fine establishment.

Hugh Jackman came into the restaurant tonight.

I heard various people saying he was there. I paid no attention to it.

Okay, so I did. The prospect of catching sight of Hugh Jackman was actually a pleasurable thought. I imagined our meeting. I was to ask him how he was and then he would be my best friend forever. We would joke about how bad of a director Brett Ratner is and how much of a shame it was that Bryan Singer is stuck directing a man in red and blue tights. We would have a great old time.

Well, that really wasn't true. Except for the Brett Ratner thing. Why is the guy who is responsible for "After the Sunset" and both "Rush Hour" movies directing my favorite mutants of all time? Oh the humanity!

But, I digress.

I eventually went upstairs and spoke to the hostess.

"Is Hugh Jackman really here?" I asked.

"Look straight ahead," she said as she pointed out a table.

And there he was. That was pretty damn cool.

He eventually came down to use the restroom. I did not want to zero him out and treat him any different than I would any other guest. Why should I? I felt it was unprofessional of me to do so. How dearly I wanted to shake his hand and compliment him on his career. However, I refrained from doing so. Besides, the best I probably could have mustered was "Barble clab a vewdds aboo comma."

Apparently he appreciated what help I gave him because he gave me a $5 tip.

He actually was a very nice man. It's good to see that his success has not gone to his head. I do want to go on the record and say that I was giddy for a few minutes after that. I mean, he's Wolverine for chrissakes! Wow!


I met Wolverine!


I think I'm fine now.

Friday, December 02, 2005

I Couldn't Wait to Get Home to Share This One

I woman walked into the restroom tonight with a look of absolute horror on her face. I let her know which stalls were open, but she just stood there. Like many people who are stunned about the restroom, I tried to coax her into a stall.

"Go ahead, ma'am. These stalls are open." I motioned towards the open stalls.

She just stood there with the same look on her face. Eventually she blurted out, "Is this both men and women?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's unisex."


Uh oh.

I never had anyone ask me that question. Most people are pleased as punch to see a unisex restroom in the States. I had to think of something fast.

"Well," I stated before briefly pausing, "the owners decided to have a unisex restroom."

That was good, huh?

The quick-witted woman she was, she came back with: "Why? What's the point?"

At this point I could feel a headache coming on. I was not prepared for this woman. How was I to explain the point of any bathroom without being vulgar or reviewing basic hygiene? I decided to state, "There's no point, ma'am. It's just a restroom. I have no other options for you. I'm sorry."

"Well that's just weird," she complained. " I don't like this. Not one bit."

She eventually -- albeit reluctantly -- entered a stall to do her business. I knew this was not the end of her complaints. She came out of the stall and had some more things to say.

"Well, you should tell your owners that this is a bad idea."

Yes, that's exactly what I was going to do. I was going to approach the owners and let them know that they have to tear down their very beautiful restroom. Perhaps I should make up my own plans for a new, improved restroom that is partitioned? Yes, that's it. Let me go tell my owners right now. I'm sure they won't mind spending a large amount of money to tear up the restroom. Pipefitters are really inexpensive to hire. It'll be a simple task that will only take a few hours.

"Okay, I'll let them know."

"I'll never come here again," she said as she exited the restroom.

As she waited for the elevator, I could tell that she had more things to say. Before long, she came up to me and said the following:

"Tell them they tried it in the 60's. It didn't work then, either."

The elevator opened up and I never saw her again.

It's not as though our restaurant is trying to create a national craze.