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Showing posts from September, 2013

Ready To Order!

I've noticed that there's a fine line between being ready to order with your server, and just wanting to sit at the table for an eternity and talk.  Because there have been many occasions when I have gone up to the table to take an order and then be waved away and told, "We haven't even looked at the menus yet.  Give us a few more minutes, we're catching up." So I oblige.  Only to be waved back to the table and scolded. "We need to order!  And we're in a hurry!" It's hard enough sometimes trying to judge when is the best time to interrupt a conversation at a table to tell the specials and take an order, so perhaps it's best to save the "reunion" conversation til after you've given me your order. These also seem to be the same people who think a certain way.  I'm talking about people who have homes that are over 3500 square feet.  And that's probably just there "second home."  These  people e

The Service Industry (guest post by MAX TIMM)

This is the first of many guest posts about how the service industry has affected people's lives for the better or for the worse.   MAX TIMM is a very talented writer whom I've known through my own writing endeavors.  But I never knew he had a connection to the service industry.  Soon, Max will be coming out with his novel, The Wishkeeper .  My wish is to stop waiting tables.  Max's came true.  But before the novel, there was the service industry.  And not only did Max work in it, he was submerged since childhood.   See below...      At the outset of World War II, men and women were enlisting in “the service”. I’ve always marveled at how patriotic and brave such a simple term really is, much less the mere act of risking and sacrificing life for freedom. The men and women who enlisted in the War called it “service” as if it was their responsibility as Americans - it was as simple as that. They had a wish to retain their individual freedom, and grant the same type

Eat More Even If You Don't Want It

People who order for other people are secretly trying to kill them.  I'm not talking about the man who orders for the lady, "...and the lady will have the small dinner salad followed by the Snapper." I'm talking about the table of four, and three of them order an appetizer with their main course, and they all look to the person who didn't order an appetizer and try to make them get one. "Didn't you order an appetizer?" says the older gentleman to the woman. "No.  I'm not that hungry," she replies. "We all got something.  You should get some soup," the man argues. "I'm fine.  I don't want to eat a lot," the woman replies. "You can have some of my salad," the other woman at the table chimes in. "She might as well order a salad for herself if she is going to share," the older gentleman says. "I am not going to share her salad.  I'm fine with what I ordered,"

Find Your Inner Brew Co

Throughout my 12 years of performing comedy in Los Angeles, I have seen many shows come and go that have been crucial to comedians throughout their careers.  Drew Carey's Thursday nights at The Hollywood Improv, Dublin's on Sunset on Tuesday's with Jay Davis and Dane Cook.  But to me, it was The Westwood Brew near UCLA that has allowed me to grow as a comedian at shows upstairs in an attic on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturday nights.  And this past weekend, those shows have sadly ended. Before you say "what the hell does this have to do with working in the service industry?," let me stop you and tell you this bar was a home away from home for me and a lot of other comics.  In a way, we worked for The Brew Co.  Not a paid position, but nonetheless, we provided a service for them in exchange for having a place to workout our material and grow as comics.  But after the abuse we have taken all of these years, we probably should have been paid. I moved to Los An

Chicken Soup for the Hot Soul

It's been incredibly hot in Los Angeles the past couple of weeks.  The kind of heat that makes me want to lie down on the tile floor next to my dog and close my eyes until it's over.  The last thing I want to do is put on my powder blue-long sleeve-button down shirt and clock in and wait tables.  But somehow, I've convinced myself that it was the right thing to do, even though I get armpit sweat stains within five minutes of being on the floor. It's not entirely my fault, the place I'm at right now decided to save a few bucks by not putting in AC.  I guess they figured that nobody would notice.  But it gets so warm on the outside patio (with a retractable roof) that you can actually smell the food cooking when it reaches the customer's table. "Can you turn on the air?" a customer asked me one afternoon. "It's on," I replied. "Would you mind turning it up?" she asked. "Well, it's natural AC, so the only way