So sometimes when you are headed down the wrong path, the universe kicks you in the ass to help you get a clue. I feel this is what happened to me upon my arrival at [omitted corporate restaurant name] this evening. Fist I could not lock my bike to the rail because the rail was too thick and my lock was too short. Of course, I eventually found a less secure way to rig the lock and so I proceeded inside to get to work about twenty minutes early for my shift! I check with the hostess and my section is the "Captain's Room"... basically a room used for parties and there were no parties scheduled for last night...So, I would have had no customers and make no money. Oh well, I just shrug it off and head upstairs to the bar where my friend Katie is supposed to have a work shirt for me because I gave her all mine last time I quit. At the bar talking to Katie is Frank, the most annoying manager in the world. The man seriously and literally has nothing in his sad life but [omitted corporate restaurant name] and a shitzu. I don't say that to be mean,I say it because it is true and a character defining trait. This may be in part because Frank has no interpersonal communication skills, when he goes to talk with tables to make sure they had an "enjoyable dining experience", the people look both a little frightened and annoyed by his presence. His is also mid thirties and still young enough to change his life if he wanted to, but that is not important this story.
What is important is that good old Frank was quite deep into bitching at Katie about a sticky area behind the bar. I can see that Katie is trying her damndest to look like she cares at all about this because, apparently Frank thinks this is a rather serious issue which demands to be recognized, debated and immediately addressed. I can tell that Frank would also like to issue a memo about said sticky behind the bar area informing all [omitted corporate restaurant name] corporation employees that sticky areas are now considered against company policy and that anyone creating or ignoring a sticky area would be hereby suspended from work or possibly fired.
But, I digress, So, I approach this battle of wits mid debate and stand at the right of Frank waiting for him to leave, so that I can receive my white button down shirt with buttons on the collar as per company policy from Katie. Frank stops and turns to face me full on. "Brewton!" he exclaims, "Are you working?" He knows I am, this is a rhetorical question.
He examines me up and down. He is quite gay, so this is not creepy in a sexual way, just in the way that I know he is a drill sergeant looking to find fault in my appearance and bring it to everyone's attention. First one is easy, "Where is your uniform?", he barks at me. I explain that Katie has my shirt which she will give me as soon as he leaves her alone and that the general manager Patti, told me she would have an apron and a tie for me. He examines me for a second time. I can tell he curses me in his head for being so well groomed. I have done my hair in a flattering, yet conservative style. I have an appropriate amount of makeup on. My shoes, belt, socks and pants are all black and cleaned. "God you're tan!" he accuses. I sigh, when will he leave? "Your pants, Brewton, they are not acceptable!" This is actually news to me as they are the pants which I have always worn at [omitted corporate restaurant name], so them suddenly being unacceptable seems rather odd; I explain this to Frank and he says that I will have to ask Patti if I may have permission to work looking so "unacceptable". This is fine with me given that Patti was kissing my ass when I said I was coming back because I am a really hard working and reliable employee which [omitted corporate restaurant name] is perpetually in short supply of. Frank swishes away, down the stairs, most likely to inform Patti of my impropriety and I focus my attention on Katie.
Katie and I have arranged a safe word which will be used when I need her to give me alcohol on the job, a popular choice being a margarita in a kid's cup, the word is "hamburger". My friend and I make eye contact, "Hamburger?" she questions. "Hamburger!" I respond and we laugh both knowing full well that I don't mean it just yet, but very well may in a few hours. I get my shirt and head towards Patti's office- and when entering the drink station collide with another server, Leo.
Ah, Leo... Leo made me cry once when I was a new employee because I accidently greeted "his" table. He is disgusting; fat with bad teeth, curly pseudo afro which he wears in a greasy ponytail at work and to top off his other qualities, he has the worst personality in the world. He is a grumpy, thieving asshole. All this charm and more is now scowling at me intensely. I, not being a horrible person, apologize profusely to which he says nothing, just gives me a stony glare and silence. I deduce what drinks were lost and start to make them for him and tell him to leave the mess and that I will clean it up. He doesn't, he grabs a broom grumbling and cleans it up himself. I tell him a few times to just leave it, but eventually I just give up. Who cares if he hates me anyway? He grumbles at me,"I thought you hated this place?!" I respond, "Yeah, but doesn't everyone?" He storms out with his new drinks and I reflect on the joy that will be working with Leo. I consider walking out at this point, but I don't.
Instead I go downstairs to the kitchen. The kitchen immediately erupts in a chorus of my name. I am loved by 95% of people on the slave ship. I am a good worker with a good attitude and the love makes me feel like maybe it will be ok working here. The general manager, Patti and Frank are deep in conversation and do not acknowledge me standing at the open door of the office for about ten minutes. I walk away and I ask another manager to get me what I need to get to work. She walks me back to the office and asks Patti to give me my supplies. Patti is about to concede when Frank butts in about my pants. Patti examines them and says they are indeed unacceptable because "there are rivets on the pockets". I explain again they are the only pants which I have ever worn to work there and that I do not have another pair of work pants. I am asked if I want to go buy some and come back. I explain that I am without car and that no I did not want to try and buy any tonight or before my shift Sunday. I basically put out there that I will work in these pants for these two nights or that they will have to wait a few weeks for me to get a car and decide that I want to go buy new pants before I can work there.
They are both staring me down and I get the feeling that what they really want right now is for me to beg. Not on my knees groveling, but a little "Please, please can I just work this week in these pants?" sort of thing. A submission of will is what they want to get from me, however, unfortunately for them, it is one thing they will never get from me! I have pride and perhaps I do need to make money, but not enough to beg to work in a crappy restaurant in a perfectly acceptable uniform. I say, "Look if my appearance is, indeed, unacceptable, then I will just go. I know I was only added on to the schedule at the last minute and that you don't need me here. If I am not up to your standards I will just leave, it's not a big deal to me." Thereby letting them know, I will work for you, and hard, and I will show up on time, but I will not grovel and I do not need you- you need me. So, I left. I went upstairs to tell Katie, who balked and was pretty sad to lose me as a coworker so quickly. I told all the bartenders and servers on the way out, who also balked at how ridiculous the managers were being. I didn't care- my heart was singing the sweet song of FREEDOM!
And that is my story.
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