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$10,000 After Tip Out is moving to...

This Apron is Chanel.
http://chanelapron.blogspot.com/

The main rationale: a dumb one, but I was juggling two Google accounts and it was getting too confusing. This is on top of the fact that the original goal of "$10,000 after tip out" is obsolete. $10,000 is no longer a magic number- I'm going to need way more than that, and I'll probably see my share of the service industry in Manhattan anyway.

Sorry for the inconvenience, and see you over there!

Does everyone have a calling? Does anyone?

These days all I can think about is whether or not I seriously missed the boat when it comes to... well, starting life. When you're in college, you have all these fabulous dreams about the future- a certain job, a certain city, a certain appearance, a certain social life. My dreams were particularly fleshed out, down to my haircut and apartment's exposed brick walls. When you're safely within the walls of a $160,000 education (the loans for which are still a distant inconvenience, not a looming threat), anything is possible. Whatever happens, you'll make it work. Long story short, in my head I thought I was going to be awesome, and right now I'm not awesome.

What happened? 1) I didn't do enough to prepare for the real world, and 2) Reality comes with way more impromptu eye surgeries, flat tires, and financial insecurity than adolescent daydreams.

I'm at that point where I can no longer command any sort of admiration by simply being a precocious little kid with her shit together. That's sort of how I got by most of my life- I was more mature, more focused, and more articulate than many of my peers, probably by virtue of being an only child with older parents in the educational haven of Massachusetts. When I was 11 with the work ethic of my business-mom and the Excel skills to match, I got whatever after school job I wanted.

Then, people start surpassing me, because surprise: people grow up. All the late bloomers who ran around pulling hair and eating worms while I was writing music and publishing short stories... became economics majors, political analysts, and med school students. I didn't want that for myself, so I didn't put in the effort to get it. I studied what interested me. Well, metaphysics, constitutional law, and consumer psychology interested me. It was that simple.

That being said, I didn't put in the effort necessary to get what I wanted either. By 21, real fashion girls- the ones who really stand out the way I wanted to (/used to)- have already interned with big-name fashion houses, retailers, and magazines. They already have connections to the industry.

I have just one connection: a school that I can't afford, that I have to defer my admission to. Jury's still out on whether or not I have to say goodbye to that dream altogether for financial reasons. I'm still crunching all the numbers to find a way. Does the very fact that I let money (or lack thereof) deter me mean that this is not really my "calling"? Or am I just realistic? Is there anything that nothing will get in the way of... any other career that screams me, that I couldn't live with myself if I didn't pursue? I used to think I knew the answer, but then I realized that I have too many interests, and I feel that I could pursue any of them with some degree of success. I think I'd be a great apparel buyer, yes. I also think I'd be a great research psychologist, a great marketing director, a great writer, maybe even a great lawyer- film editor? Jewelry designer? I could do something entrepreneurial and love it, or I could get sucked into a corporate machine and love it, too. I could do something academic... or I could do something strictly practical. But what is right vs. what is a huge mistake?

None of this changes the fact that food serving is the hardest freaking job there is and arguably the most applicable to any other job out there. Where else do you hone people-skills, wine knowledge, time management, workplace politics, and customer service while getting an excellent workout and $20/hr?

Finally

A calm, lucrative day. Well, for me- the other servers were screwed. I just tried to stay out of the way.

The only disagreeable thing that happened all day was a guy snapping his fingers at me to get my attention. My blood doesn't boil at that nonsense anymore though (if it did, it would have all evaporated by now). My prism-eye appreciates an auditory signal at this point anyway.

My coworkers are bummed that they only have a few more days to exhaust their eye jokes and pranks which mostly have to do with waving things around the left side of my face and seeing if I react. Meanwhile, I'm terrified of getting sick (apparently they can't operate if I have so much as a cough), and I've been compulsively washing my hands because one of the servers is deathly ill. I can't tell you how unappealing another week of this sounds to me right now.

Pardon my reach sir, I can't see out of my left eye.

So this is the mandatory server-blog "can you believe this happened" post of the week. I try to steer away from these because, believe or not, I like my job, but once in awhile a table pushes me so far out of my comfort zone that I have to do a double take. And doing a double take with only one working eye is the worst.

When I first approached my table, they were 100% friendly, and I figured this was going to be a smooth ride. Then it started: the critiquing. This group took it upon themselves to evaluate and discuss every detail of my performance for the duration of their meal. For instance, one of the ladies quietly placed her order while the others were engaged in conversation, but when I then asked the last man for his order he barked that I should take ladies' orders first. Now, this was not a nicety toward them or a mere "Honey, you go first" but rather a direct lesson to me in proper serving etiquette. For real? They continually handed me things before I had a chance to collect them (I don't pick things up off a table while I am speaking), with a "shame on you" tone of voice ("Aren't you going to take my wine glass?").

As I walked away after taking their entree orders, I heard one man remark that there had not been adequate distance between the menu and his wife's face when I collected it. I can assure you that, despite my faulty depth perception, I have never come close to whopping anyone in the face with a menu.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that literally every time I walked near this table, the topic of conversation was my performance or a comparison of my performance with another server. One of the best lines, spoken right in front of me, but not to me: "the last time I came here, the waiter was top notch. He was a real professional." The reality is that, beyond some drinks that came out a bit late because the bartender was slammed, there had been nothing wrong with my service. They always had the proper utensils and nothing more. The table remained clean and organized. I was exceptionally polite, and I followed all of our steps of service. I can't say I did anything that warranted this reaction (I've effed up quite a few tables, but this was not one of them). When I was at the bar I dropped a wine glass that shattered everywhere, and my table and two others got up and clapped raucously/sarcastically. 1) This is not a dive bar, and 2) Give me a goddamn break, I am busting my ass with a busted eye so I can pay my bills, so please just take a seat.

Ironically, they were generous tippers in the end.

The whole thing was a bit jarring, and I can't decide what unsettled me the most. The fact that they were far more concerned with my serving credentials than their food and having a pleasant evening? The fact that I was still struggling to function with my double vision, still drowning in self-pity, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was this sort of treatment? Or that counter-productive, visceral reaction I got from that comparison with a "professional" server: I never want to be a professional server, but only a server who acts professionally.

What.Ever.

Home Sweet Apartment + No Money

Thanks for all the kind words re: my eye. With the help of an outrageous prism lens and 15 ibuprofens a day, I've been about 75% able to rejoin the real world. I still can't work properly. I tried a morning shift yesterday, but after a customer unnecessarily shot her arm up in my face when offered a water refill, and this arm refracted into eight unnecessary gestures, I decided to crawl back to safety. I should be getting better glasses later in the week, so I expect to be working again by Friday. I hope. By Friday I will be lucky to have $50 in my bank account total after paying all my bills. Thankfully, the season is starting early this year, and I expect to be walking with $75/day minimum from now on, so I should be caught up financially by the end of next week. Right now I'm in anxiety-provoking limbo though. And I need to get my hair redone.

Things I'm doing in my spare time: Watching Dexter, listening to Santigold, and making crazy water to put in my fridge. I was studying the new cocktail menu for work the other day, which is all muddled-this and muddled-that, and I realized, I freaking love solid food in my drinks. If I'm going to check my pride at the door someplace and get a super-fruity cocktail, it absolutely must have all kinds of crazy stuff floating in it. And then I was thinking about how awesome it would be if a drink was like that, but without the alcohol, because (and this may shock anyone who ever met me in college) I can't stand the taste of alcohol.

Long story short, I put a bunch of cucumber and mint and lime in a pitcher with icy water and it's excellent. I also looked it up on Google and uhh it turns out this is like... a thing, and everyone does it. Where have I been? Not frequenting day spas lately, I guess.

Anyway, now that I can read again I look forward to checking up on all of your blogs and posting here more often. Wish me a frugal week, my self-control will need it.

Brief hiatus: this sucks

Given that my normal vision is on hiatus, my blog will have to be as well. I'm writing this to you with a patch on one eye which I can assure you is totally unfashionable and totally inconvenient. Two days ago I had some sort of muscular spasm in my left eye, which turned it permanently outward. Thanks to all of my dear friends who texted me references to Mad Eye Moody- like I didn't think of that one myself (love you guys).

Anyway I was rushed to my ophthalmologist (why is that word so hard to spell) who confirmed that this was a big problem and I needed surgery. Well obvi. Unfortunately, he can't schedule the surgery until he knows how much he is going to have to tighten the muscles.... which is now going to require a month or two of various prism lenses. (Edit: getting surgery this week!)

In the meantime I can't work, drive, read/type without a patch, and I can't really live alone, so I'm back at my parents' house. I am hoping, however, that the sheer relief of stress on the eye will allow me to regain some of my vision before the surgery.

The silver lining is that, although the spasm was brought on my stress and some eye exercises I was prescribed, it exacerbated an underlying condition that was bound to arise at some point. Since I was originally meant to move to New York August 1 or September 1, this could have caused a major financial/psychological breakdown. Instead, I'm just really pissed off and seeing double.

I'll be back as soon as I can start seeing a bit better and my new glasses come in. Until then, ciao!

New menu: New headache

Just when I thought I knew which glaze came on which pan-seared-what... the dreaded menu change. Or rather, a total restaurant overhaul. I have two days to memorize about 100 new items (appetizers, entrees, desserts, wines, cocktails) in detail. After a long double shift I will then be completing all these written tests, which I must pass in order to work the following day (at 10 am). My brain was already at capacity from the most recent wine lists and steps of service. Things are about to get so damn messy.

Since that was one big downer, I'll counter it with the happy announcement that I discovered Plastic Island clothes and now have things to wear again. I am always on the lookout for affordable clothes that aren't sleazy. I'm sick of BCBG after a long run, so this is the latest and greatest for me. I'm also loving Alice + Olivia, which is a little beyond my budget but I'm always on the lookout for sales. Ok yeah, clothes should be eliminated from the budget, or replaced with dirt-cheap substitutes, right? .......... Bitch please, who do you think I am.

For school I read the intuitive idea that self-control is a deplete-able resource. If you practice excessive control and deprivation in all aspects of your life, eventually something's gotta give. In other words, if you take away my cable (check), my high-speed internet (check), my major cities (check), my Starbucks (check), my best friends (half-check, they're all absurdly far away), and my free time (check), and then you make me shop at Forever21 and Target all the time, I will probably take up hard drugs or acquire a gambling addiction.

On that note, back to studying.

Where to cut costs?

You may have noticed that my little savings progress bar has been completely static for, oh, six weeks. This is because my move has temporarily drained my bank account, but the money is picking up at the restaurant. It's back to savings mode soon.

The big question for me is whether to spend on the little things or the big ones? My intuition is to spend more on the small luxuries that I can enjoy often- Starbucks, high-quality make-up and cosmetics, a few magazine subscriptions, etc. I then opt out of the major purchases like cable, vacations, and frequent dinners out. Ironically, the little things are the ones that can be most easily substituted or eliminated.

Which has the bigger impact though? Wiping out all Starbucks and Bobbi Brown eyeliner from my life just seems doomed to failure.... and too depressing to handle.

So what do you want to be when you grow up?

There are two common questions among servers in my restaurant, toward the end of the shift when the last two or three tables have pitched their tents and we all rally to polish glasses and fold napkins. 1) How did you do today? and 2) ... what do you want to do?

What the second question means is essentially:

• What degree are you working on?
• Where do you want to move to, when you inevitably escape Arizona?
• Exactly how long do you intend to sling Arnold Palmers and $8 Chardonnay?

Answers with the biggest wow-factor: law, accounting, teaching. Working one's way up the food chain (pun intended) in the restaurant business also garners some respect. Extra points if you are attending the local university.

I spent 3 out of my 4 years of college a pre-law philosophy and psychology dual major, so I got used to that warm reception you get from strangers/family/professors who think you're a promising young individual. Even if you don't know what "JD" stands for, you can certainly gain instant credibility by declaring yourself pre-law. Try it, you'll see.

Call me crazy, but by my final year the catwalk seemed way more appealing than the courtroom. After extensively researching fashion careers and working an LA trade show, I realized that I just had to be a high-end apparel buyer. It's the intersection of all of my strengths, talents, and interests: trend spotting, branding, number-crunching, traveling, negotiating, socializing.

Unfortunately, the reaction you get from the general public about this kind of career path is uninspiring.

"I want to be a fashion buyer."

"So like pick out clothes for rich people?"

"What happened to law school?"

"I'm going to Parsons."

"Is that in California?"

"I want to work for Bergdorf's."

"Isn't that one of those chichi department stores? Honestly, the money people spend on those things...."

You know, it's a good thing I have a thick skin for all this, because otherwise I'd be studying for the LSAT right now.

First apartment, glorious

Cockroach friend aside (his name is now Fred), I am utterly obsessed with this apartment and living on my own. I am about half-done decorating, and thanks to some Anthropologie candles and an fantastic color scheme, it's becoming great.

Living completely alone ensures that all kinds of ridiculous things will never happen: there will never be food remnants in a jar that does not belong to it (peanut butter and bread crumbs in the jam container- disgusting). There will never be dishes in the sink, particularly now with Fred here. Drunk girls who can't hold their liquor will never be puking in my toilet unless I invite them in (it's kind of like vampires), and let's be honest, I won't be doing that anytime soon. When it's just my space and not even college-owned, a certain pride of ownership takes hold. Since no one else is responsible for anything that goes on in here, it is a direct reflection of me. And since unmade beds and mismatched flatware certainly do not reflect who I am, they should just not be here.

And yes, my closet is now organized by color and length of garment.

1br/1ba, small brown pets included

I'm not that squeamish, but I do believe in a sharp delineation between outdoors and indoors and this is why I was unamused when THIS:

was just hanging out inside my bathroom cabinet this evening. I thought roaches were supposed to scurry away when you turn on the light and get all up close and personal, but this one was in no rush.

I am totally new to cockroaches. My last apartment had a terrific spider problem with the occasional grasshopper, and the dorm before that had ants (+ one squirrel)... but cockroaches, no. As someone who keeps everything spotless, I take this as a personal affront.

Maybe my downstairs neighbors are the culprits, I bet they leave old pizza boxes on the floor or something. They do have a penchant for patio ornaments and knick-knacks, if that's any indication....

Anyway, does anyone know how to get rid of these, or at least this one?

Something wrong with this picture

I've been watching some of the old Harry Potters (haven't seen the new one yet), and can some please explain this to me? Precisely how does one go from this look:

to this look:

I mean barring excessive weight gain or botched surgeries, no one ages that poorly (complete with smoker's voice), and certainly not anyone with magical powers. I mean, what if Ed Westwick came back next season looking like the elephant man? And Chuck Bass isn't even a wizard.

Just some food for thought.

The real world, trial run: Too many temptations

This is the first time I'll legitimately be living on my own- not on a college campus, not subletting, not using my parents' money, not staying with friends. It's going to be excellent.

I am feeling wary of the financial pitfalls though. Between rent, utilities, and groceries, there is not going to be a lot of room for error this time around. And although a ten month lease certainly warrants a comfortable living space, it's still temporary. Anything I purchase for this apartment now is going to need to be repurchased in New York next summer.... No way in hell am I trekking Ikea furniture and Target lighting across the country.

The first potential pitfall will be decorating. I'm hopelessly in love with anything clean, minimalist, and neutral; a Google image search for "minimalist apartment" pulls up the interior decor of my dreams. I mean really... Do you get more aesthetically pleasing than this?

Unlikely.

Also unlikely is me achieving anything near this with the hodgepodge of dishes, bed linens, and furniture I'll be unloading from my parents' closets. Am I the only one with a lot of little things, like inexplicable issues that make me cringe? Like I have one thing with chunky-knit material on blankets or sweaters (gives me the creeps), another with perforated or hole-y things like those bath mats you find in public showers, and a final one with mismatched silverware/flatware/glassware/furniture. Freaks me out.

I'm also contemplating cable or Dish Network (a necessity for some people, but more of a luxury for me), but I'm nervous about one of two things happening:

or

Making the question of the day: What am I possibly going to do without reality TV?

I miss clothes

110 degree days and a dismal uniform has robbed me of every ounce of personal style I ever had. Realistically, what can you wear in this heat beyond a tank top and mini skirt? Even heels prolong the time you spend getting cooked on the parking lot pavement. Forget makeup and hair; ten minutes and my lipstick is on my chin.

Worse yet, nobody cares. Even in the finer shops, restaurants, and bars around here ripped jeans and grubby T's prevail. I hate that my perpetual ribbed tanks and Havaianas are contributing to the madness. I was never the girl perfectly coifed and all decked out in designer-whatever, but I at least adhered to some standards of decency. Not anymore, I guess.

In other news, I officially signed my lease today after a short scuffle over hidden fees, which means that although I'm still sleeping in my parents' house, I have keys to 550 square feet elsewhere. I'm working double shifts all weekend so I have absolutely no idea when and how I am going to move. There is the minor problem of the apartment being unfurnished. Details to follow.

The real skilled labor

I'm in a cheery mood because I just got a beautiful foothills apartment (security deposit waived), but regardless I'm just going to bitch about my job some more.

Ok I should state here that I do enjoy this job. I work with great people, I serve primarily great food, and I make great money. I have to say though- 3 hours serving food is so unlike 3 hours doing anything else. This time my post is not dedicated to abusive diners, but instead to those who knock food-serving as unskilled, easy labor. Anyone can serve right? Um, LOL.

Let me paint a picture of a typical 20 minutes in the weeds:

The hostess seemed to have checked her brain at the door today so she did not seat any tables in your section for the first hour. Upon recovery of her brain she realizes her mistake and sits 3 tables of 4 in your section all at once.

All 3 tables must be immediately greeted, but the greet involves a 3 minute spiel requiring you to offer several types of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, appetizers, bread, and daily specials which you memorized (down the the truffle oil finish) the second you walked in the door. You're trying to hit each table quickly but one snot-nosed (literally) old man is ordering an incomprehensible whiskey drink and a half-deaf/half-dead lady is asking you to repeat the entire seabass special. Thus by the time you've reached the third table, they're pissed.

All tables are now set on the same timeline- requiring drinks at the same time, orders taken, food delivered, etc. But you are only one person. On your way to your third/pissed off table, for which you have a full tray of food and beverages, the first table asks for a bottle of wine, which will require a careful and lengthy presentation, and the second table barks off a new complicated drink order that you can't write down because you have a full tray.

You drop off the tray and that table requests more butter- and could it be the plain butter not the other kind? You go for the wine, present it, and realize you have yet to put in the complicated and unwritten drink order, but as you enter that in the manager yells for everyone to drop everything and take food out of the window for another server's table. You finally put in the drink order and by this point the butter-table is angry, not realizing that their "plain" butter requires you to go to the walk-in and personally slice it, but now the drink is ready so you try to drop that but the first table has a complaint about the steak being undercooked.

You track down a manager to deal with that when a table throws a discount card on your tray and another wants a different bottle of wine, while the closing server is growling that you have not been taking silverware out of the back and there are no glasses left. After pulling a rack of glasses to appease her, you get the wine but a table stops you and lets you know there is a birthday, which means you'll have to light a candle and shuffle out with the dessert at some point, but first you need to make sure the discount is taken care of and the iced tea that some other server's guy is waving at you is refilled. Turns out that the pastry chef forgot to make the birthday dessert though, so it takes about half an hour to get to the table, and even though it's free and you almost lit yourself on fire, the table is scowling at you and rolling their eyes.

All of this is done while ensuring that the correct arm is always serving the correct customer (which varies depending on the seating arrangement), all of the proper vocabulary is utilized, and the customers don't get the impression that you just might be stressed.

They all end up tipping 13% anyway. After all, the plain butter took too long.