Through the fire

This was a crazy weekend.

Well, week.

Let's start with Valentine's Day. I worked that night (after all, my hubby and I are old married people, and he was working late too). It was very busy at the restaurant, as you might expect. Made good money.

Then Thursday and Friday were dead. Slooooooooooooowww. I actually got cut at 8 pm on Friday (which is unheard of), but it allowed me to have some bone marrow at the bar, and have a drink out with a friend like a normal person. Still home by 10:30.

Saturday night, we were slammed. We ran our asses off all night long. Great money, but didn't get home until 1 am. We sat 104 people, which in a restaurant with 12 tables, is a lot.

Oh, but then. Then came Sunday brunch.

I have never, ever, been that busy waiting tables.

Not even at that dive bar in college, right before last call. Not on any holiday. Not during any special party.

We sat 125 people during a four-hour brunch.

With two servers, one bartender, no hostess, and half a busboy. (I say half, because he's still new, and not very fast.) Saturday night we had three servers, two bartenders, and a hostess. So we sat more people, in less time, with less than half the staff.

Oh, and we lost a server on Saturday night, because her dad had just had a heart attack, and we had to replace the bartender Sunday morning--in the middle of all that rush--because she had a stomach virus and was projectile-vomiting.

But everything turned out okay. Even though people had to wait for a table, everyone was pleasant about it. Everyone got their food in a timely manner, everyone got enough coffee/water/whatever, nothing got dropped or spilled, and no one complained. We made 20% in tips (everyone could see us running our asses off), and several people praised the music (we were doing Power Ballad Brunch).

So I figure I am now, officially, a fully professional waiter. If I could get through those two shifts, back to back, with six hours of sleep, and come out on the other side with 20% tips, no screwed-up orders, and no unreasonable wait times for any of the customers, I figure I can handle anything.

It goes without saying that as soon as we were done on Sunday, I went out and got drunk. I hated humanity so much right then. Fortunately, a friend of mine stopped in to eat at the bar; I made her stick around until we were all done, and then we all went out for shots and beer. It ended up back at my place, in front of a movie, with a pile of junk food.

My hubby worked every day this weekend, for hours at a stretch, and he claims his schedule will be like that until probably the end of the year. Which sucks. But if he's going to be working that much, I might as well be working that much as well--by getting another restaurant job. I could use the money.

It may be time for me to take the next step, and upgrade to a four-star establishment, the kind of restaurant with a tasting menu and a wine list like a book.