In a world were the Nazi flag is being proudly and brazenly flown once again, I see an equally dangerous counter-movement coming to the front. The new opposition is rising under the guise of stamping out a culture which has already been proven to be wrong and downright evil. But in efforts to squash the widely panned Nazi agenda, the Alt-Left (if you will) have created the exact same type of organization, performing egregious acts, all in the name of preventing the world from falling into an idyllic rabbit-hole which we all know is dangerous.
The greatest problem we face in the clash of ideas and cultures is not what they are arguing about. These social problems and values exist, and will continue to grow and to worsen because of the way in which people choose to have "reasonable" discourse on the subject.
I say reasonable discourse with complete irony, especially given the recent protests and riots that began with a Neo-Nazi march and the counter protests to said events.
Nether side of these opposed groups have been reasonable in any way. With both sides so vehemently opposing each-others ideologies, what they seem to be failing to grasp is that the methods both groups are using are in fact, in and of themselves, a problem as great as the issues they claim to be at hand.
Both extreme sides of this issue have taken a route which, I can only assume they believe to be their only option, is far more damaging and dividing than any actual discourse on the matter could ever be. Why is this? Because they want to stamp each other's ideas out, crush them into oblivion, instead of being willing to cede points of interest which could make for a useful conversion.
In point of fact, both sides are socially behaving just as Hitler-led Germany did. It is a method that can be incredibly effective (to a point), and, as history shows us, equally horrible. The world does not, or should not operate on absolutes of ideology. People are far too varying in lives, situations, beliefs, and concerns, for a one-sided polar view to full take hold and work in any form.
It's almost as if one side is throwing fire and the other throwing ice, throwing until only one remains, when all we really needed was water.
Maybe we should all take a step back and realize what we're looking for and then take a look at how we're trying to get it. We might find the water we're searching for is right there if we'd stop trying to ruin it by firing off from both extremes.
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Thursday, January 29, 2015
On Being Indifferent
On Being Indifferent: A post inspired by a moment of slightly ironic non-indifference (drats!)
Political happenings are happening.
Some of these “happenings” are well-meaning and, as I view them, legitimate.
Others... well… they’re happening regardless.
Then there’s the measles thing.
People need to avoid it like the plague. Or was that gluten? I get these things
mixed up. Oh yeah… lock yourself away lest measles and/or gluten finds you and
destroys your life. (I am all about vaccinating, just saying, as well as avoiding gluten if you, ya know, actually need to for a medical reason (fad diets and, "I feel better because I cut out donuts," does NOT count)).
There are some bad dudes who
hijacked the name of my favorite spy agency. ISIS is no longer synonymous with
Sterling Archer. I preferred my ISIS as a semi-functional, for-profit,
hilarious gang of outlandishly lovable characters, each of whom has enough quirks
and demons to down the titanic.
We’ve hit a point where both Bill
Gates and Stephen Hawking have warned us of our impending doom via typical mid
1900’s Science Fiction AI doomsday stories. So that’s… something to look
forward to (not sure what I can do here except for wait for the inevitability that whoever makes an evil destructor-bot will most definitely have it look like Arnold Schwartzegneggar).
Gay people can get married. Except
when they can’t. People Love that. Other people hate it. Blood boils, angry
things are said, comforting things are said, flags are raised and waved and
people do and say awful, awful things in the names of their just or unjust causes (here's looking at you Westboro).
The world has a lot going on is what I’m getting at (of course you already knew that). You know what I’m
concerned with…? Honestly, to some small extent, all of the above and a
thousand things more… but mostly, whether or not I’ve eaten enough broccoli and
spinach to keep me from feeling like I’ll starve to death before I go to bed.
Yup, I’m concerned with food - and
if I’ll sleep decently (not in any way related to the above issues). Don’t get
me wrong, I see the validity of many of these issues… I’m just… well,
indifferent.
Honestly, don’t you ever feel like
half the world’s “problems” would evaporate if people simply stopped focusing on them so much? Obviously this doesn’t apply for something like, famine and
hunger. But a massive chunk of “first world problems” aren’t really problems at
all. They are fixations that only affect our lives if we choose to let them.
By all means, folks, fixate on the
world-altering, life or death, oh my god, oh my god we’re all going to die
stuff. But for everything else… Can’t we take a collective step back, shrug our
shoulders, say “Meh,” and get back to talking to friends and family, playing a
fun game, writing, building, relaxing, or just being, I dunno… indifferent…? I know what sounds like more fun to me... (That'd be the cake I'm actively ignoring... Curse you cake and your temptations!)
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
It's All About Me
I suck at being selfless. At my most
altruistic I still secretly hope someone
notices and thinks nice thoughts about me. Yeah… That’s when I’m trying to be selfless. Wow, I’m bad at
this. I get a little solace in believing that this is how most people probably
are… but feeling good because other’s aren’t better isn’t exactly the noblest
of thoughts either.
See, the truth is, it’s all about
me. All of this. Everything. Yup, I said it. I’m the center of the universe - my
universe. What a crazy thought.
No matter how much I want to see
other people happy, no matter how much I try to help them, even when I go out
of my way to get out of my own way (did that make sense?) and make sure my
happy little selfless acts go untraced, it’s still all about me. I’m bothered
by that fact. I don’t like to think of myself as a selfish person. I try to be
nice, I try to work hard, I try to be
a good person. It’s something at which I suck (not fishing for compliments or
reassurances here, just a blunt self-assessment).
I’ve been thinking this over after
yet another failed relationship. There’s that quote about the only common
denominator in your failed relationships is you. Kind of a depressing thought,
but true, so I guess it was time for some introspection.
I really hate introspection
sometimes. It’s far easier to pretend I’m God’s gift to mankind, a
misunderstood, socially awkward, semi-talented, fairly well-educated,
reasonably fit man. But introspection makes me admit that all of my strengths
have weaknesses, and that I’ve got my fair share of weaknesses which I must
strive to overcome.
Right now I’m thinking selfishness is
in my top three things I need to work on. Selfishness led me to be a really,
really crappy boyfriend. I had my moments, I certainly could have been worse,
but it took the post-breakup look inside to realize just how many of the issues
I was projecting outward were a direct manifestation of my own selfishness and
unwillingness to work, give, and put someone else first.
Selfishness sucks. It’s so flippin’
hard to be happy when you’re being selfish. I might even say it’s impossible.
Nothing will ever measure up to the perfect standard when it’s all about you.
But when you can manage to stop thinking about yourself, that perfect standard
magically becomes far less important. I know, mind shattering thought, eh? Lose
yourself in service yada yada yada…
Well, I’m not good at “service” in
the sense most people talk about it. It feels fake and forced to me. If it
works for other people, that’s awesome, good on them, but to me, it usually
(not always) feels like I’m trying to buy God’s brownie points. Service is just
one of those areas where I have a difficult time putting myself in the right
frame of mind.
So how do I be less selfish? Hmmm… Aint that the question. When I wake up in the
morning the day is about me, when I go to sleep the day is about me. I’m
thinking about me, what I need to do,
what I want.
It’s all about me. It will always be
about me… except when it’s not. I really doubt the personal wants, desires, and
thoughts will ever go away, but I can
go out of my way to think about other people. In a lot of little ways I’m great
at this (chalk it up to ingrained habits from wonderful parents). I hold open
doors (whoop whoop), randomly help old ladies carry things or load their cars,
I do little pieces of co-workers’ jobs just to make their lives slightly easier
in the moment. But these are small, small things.
And I’m starting to realize this
whole selfless thing, it’s really all about the accumulation of small things…
that and sucking it up sometimes, ignoring your wants, smiling, and doing
something that’s hard or painful to make life a little better, easier, or
happier for those around you.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Tis the Season, I Suppose!
I guess it’s the time of year to be
thankful. Maybe someone is trying to open my eyes or smack me over the head
with the realization of how lucky I am. Two days ago it was a poignant
experience with my youngest brother. Today I was blessed with an unneeded
reminder I was born to two extraordinary, wonderful, loving, giving people. I
say unneeded, and I mean it, I know my parents are incredible… but the
experience is certainly welcome!
As I mentioned in my last post
(about my brother stepping up on my behalf) I hurt my back playing Thanksgiving
day football. Well, fast forward to this morning at work. I’m standing (leaning really) and
talking to a co-worker (a truly good friend) and she said something along the
lines of, “No doing extra work and doing my stuff for me!” after I’d mentioned
how bad my back was at the moment.
To which I responded, “I can’t help
it! If you have a problem with it, blame my parents!”
At this point my manager chimed in. “Blame
your parents? I think you mean thank
your parents! I wish they’d raised everyone
in the world! Then everyone would have an incredible work ethic and be nice!”
Ok, I reveled in the inherent
compliment there, I won’t lie. But my manager made an excellent point. Mom n
Dad done did it right! If I’ve managed to make a good showing of myself, I
certainly have them to thank.
Maybe I have a good work ethic. I
like to think I do. I know I try. But I can attribute that to a thousand events
in my life, most of which are directly linked to my parents. Maybe I’m nice, I
try to be. But if you’ve met my family you know at my best I’m a poor, albeit striving,
shadow to what my parents effortlessly exude.
-I
wish your parents had raised everyone in the world-
… :) …
My dad often told me a story growing
up, a story of his mother, of working hard and doing our best. To him, it was
the moment that taught him to always strive for perfection. And it was a story
that only confirms I’ve been blessed to come from a line of incredible people.
It was my dad’s family’s turn to
clean the chapel. They went about cleaning the church. At some point they
reached a point where there was a part of the chapel my dad didn’t believe
needed to be cleaned. After all, nobody ever saw that part. But my grandmother, in the way that she always was,
said something along the lines of (oh I wish I had my father’s memory of the
event so I could get this right instead of paraphrasing an idea), “It doesn’t
matter if anyone ever sees it. God can see it. God will know, and you should always give your best.”
Thanks, Grandma, you taught well.
You raised a wonderful man, who in turn married a wonderful woman. Hopefully,
somewhere down the line, someone will be able to say I was a fitting link in
the chain of my incredible family.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Standing Amoung Giants
Standing Among Giants
I had a first yesterday. My youngest brother stepped up to protect me. That’s not to say he hasn’t been on my side before, protective and loving and… well, brotherly. But yesterday, he stood up for me in the type of way I’ve always considered my duty to all my family. He stood up for me in the way an older brother ought to step in for the for weaker, younger, fragile sibling…
Thanksgiving morning dawned, I was woken and shortly found myself on a frost covered field with twenty-something mostly strangers. Football. Far from my strength. I’ve never been terribly physically gifted. I grew up gawky and physically awkward. I’ve since taken to regular gym time and have packed on enough muscle to beat the curve, but I’m far from an athlete. The only sport I’ve ever been any good at is soccer and that was as much through will and endless years of experience. Even then, I often only succeeded because I surprise people with speed or perseverance. I certainly am not earning any points for true skill. I’ll leave genuine physical prowess up to others.
And it was on this chill Thanksgiving morning that my youngest brother stepped up for me.
For those who don’t know, I have a terribly troublesome back. I originally injured it pouring concrete when I was 17. Since then I’ve further ruined it while surfing and being in a hit and run while I was biking (among a few other more moderate instances). A doctor once told me my spine would never be good, or normal again, and that the best I could hope for was to maintain a relative health and usefulness through exercise and diligent maintenance. Surgery was more or less rules out do to the compound nature of multiple issues through several areas of my spine. So I wake in pain, I go to sleep in pain, and I wake in the middle of the night, in pain.
Back to the point at hand… I only came to play the “Turkey Bowl” because I was told it would be touch or flag, not tackle. I’d expressed before hand I simply couldn’t do tackle. I don’t trust my body enough to hold up. On any given day I can tell it’s one wrong twist or turn from putting me into immobility for a week or months. Well, I showed up and everyone unanimously voted (minus myself) to play tackle.
...I don’t like holding people back. I didn’t want to ruin the fun. Ok. Everyone wants to play tackle, I’ll buy in… with the exception that I’m flags. I’m touch only. I hate being the lame exception, but I know my body and no amount of fun is worth the pain I’d be in if I played like everyone else.
The moment I mention I won’t do tackle, that I can’t, my good friend mentions my back as validation and the group generally agrees… And then someone in the mass makes a wisecrack about targeting me as a weak link.
Enter Stage Right, The Incredible Hulk.
My youngest brother is what can only be deemed as a physical outlier. Part of this is natural gift and a great deal of if it is through sheer exertion of will and a simple refusal to quit when most people would. He was blessed without an off switch, without that little voice that tells you to quit. Or if he has it, he has been given an inhuman ability to ignore it and impose his will on the situation. This is a kid who grew up as a skinny Haole boy in Hawaii, playing football with Polynesian kids two or three times his size. This is the kid who decided that didn’t matter and created a highlight reel of him leveling running backs with 50 to a 100 pounds on him. This is the kid who has always found a way to seemingly do the physically impossible. This is the kid who refused to quit or be beat.
As a result, my brother was one of the biggest and fittest people on the field that day. 200ish pounds of twisted, rugby and football playing steel. This body is a tool, a vehicle for sport or destruction. And to the joking comment some stranger had made he said something in a dead cold voice that gave me the first realization that I was not longer truly the “big brother.”
“If you touch him I will smoke you.”
I will smoke you.
I’d never heard the phrase, never heard him say it before, but I knew exactly what he meant. I saw his face. He was dead serious.
We went on to play. I did my part, miming the part of a defender or receiver. He repeatedly ran over defenders and gently (because he didn’t want to hurt anyone by going full-out) took down the other team. He was half our team of 12, maybe more.
Eventually came the play where I was the targeted receiver. I caught the ball and instantly ran into a defender who, in his defense, had missed the bit about me being outside the tackle rules. I went down relatively gently, by tackling standards, but I felt my back give way nonetheless. I got up, someone said, “Green does NOT mean go,” as I was wearing a green shirt. In the background someone shouted something along the lines of, “Yeah, you can’t touch him, he has a glass hip.”
And then again, there was my youngest brother, leveling a gaze against a joking bunch of weekend warriors, answering a comment I hadn’t heard. “Try it and I will destroy you.”
Destroy you…
I looked at him. I hadn’t heard the original comment, though I could guess the line of joking it had come from. I was in the midst of telling the guy who’d tackled me not to worry, he hadn’t known. “It’s all good.”
And my brother stood there like Hercules or Achilles. Like stone. Staring. And his words hung in the air - at least to me.
I will destroy you.
My brother is not a violent person. Far from it. He’s closer to what you’d call a gentle giant, though he doesn’t appear to be a giant to anyone who doesn’t know him. He’s above average in size, but far from inherently imposing. When he switches from a caring, God-fearing man to a person capable of ripping someone apart, well, he’s a genuinely dangerous person. On my best day I wouldn’t want to go there, even knowing I have a much better grasp of martial arts than he does. He’d will through whatever is thrown at him and… well, as he said, destroy.
And so there I stood, already in physical pain and knowing the worst wouldn’t set in for hours as my body realized I’d abused my injured back. Everyone lined up to play as if nothing had happened… And yet there I was, sitting and thinking… pondering at what point had I crossed from big brother into someone who needed protection. I didn’t feel I needed it, but he felt it was his duty - that he was obligated.
I stand among giants.
I’ve always known I’ve blessed to be born into an extraordinary family. I have siblings that are valedictorians, geniuses, empathetic, and concert pianists. And, yes, I have a brother with a soft heart who’s a physical beast willing to stand for those he loves.
“If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.”
I won’t pretend I don’t stand upon their shoulders, though as they are my family, and my friends, but I’d like to think that through my own efforts I’ve found a way to stand among them.
I may be the older brother. But I’m no longer the big brother… And I couldn’t be more happy or proud.
Monday, September 8, 2014
A Failure to Pay a Reasonable Wage
A
Failure to Pay a Reasonable Wage
First things first, I’m not
proposing a change to minimum wage, that's a different argument for a another day. I have a different concern in mind: Paying
people what they’re worth.
You see, I’ve noticed a sadly common
and depressing trend of employers who honestly seem to believe they are doing
themselves a favor—or at the very least opperating under "normal" and "healthy" practices—by underpaying genuinely good employees. From what I’ve
been able to gather is that these companies believe, on a whole, that it works in their favor
to pay someone say, $12 an hour when they are doing the work and have the responsibility
of someone deserving of twice that wage.
Let's get one thing straight, I don’t believe everyone earns that
higher wage. Many people call it in, so to speak. But there is a breed of
worker who will try and strive and do their best regardless… until they can no
longer bend. Suddenly they break, and they move on. These workers ought to be
paid twice what they make and truly replacing them often seems to cost triple
or quadruple a company's original labor cost, be it through base wage or lost production
during an inevitable training and learning curve phase. And yet companies seem
oblivious to the value of these individuals. Why?
Seriously, why? WHY?
Come on, people! You’re killing me! ...And your businesses!
To me, the value is obvious. An
employee who’s been with the company for five year has more value than an
equally hard-working and intelligent worker who’s brand new to the company. The vested
employee has learned dozens or hundreds of little side jobs and tricks to
streamline work, has become more productive across a variety of necessary areas
and has knacks, knowledge, and all the functional skills to utilize their
individual strengths. What is that knowledge worth? Obviously, that depends on
the company and industry… but from the jobs I’m talking about, the people I’m envisioning,
they average out to a 5-10% pay increase over the brand new employee which they
have to train.
Even assuming a menial labor job, a
so called “no skill” position, the amount of output by such an employee is at
least 25-50% more than the average new employee over the first year in the job.
Even the best intentioned, hardest worker can only learn so much so fast. They
can only produce so much as they adjust to the various learning curves. And yet, from what I’ve seen in our “burgeoning”
modern economy the truly hard-working, intelligent, diligent, and dedicated worker gets
their 5-10% raise over a worker they are doing, let’s be honest, probably
50-75% more work than (that’s not counting how well they are doing said work or
the value of their positive, competent face they’ve attached to the company).
Many of these great workers,
dedicated to their own education and improving their value through measureable
means, choose to move on to bigger and better companies. Ok, fine. Logical. Who
wouldn’t, given the opportunity? What gets me is that any company would EVER
let these people move on for a reason such as reasonable compensation beyond
what their company is capable of offering/sustaining.
Let’s get this straight. People that
feel the need to move on and upward are usually doing so because the company
they work for simply isn’t valuing them properly (or simply no longer possesses
the upward mobility of challenge and progression as well as financial
compensation).
And yet the trend of companies
undervaluing truly good employees—at least from my personal observation—has
become the norm. Common place. Expected.
Depressing.
We live in a rough economy. "These
people ought to feel glad they even have a job!" says the manager/ceo/owner, as
they drive off in a car that could pay the competent worker for a year or two,
while they themselves are often completely reliant on these underpaid workers to get the results they are paid for.
Look, I’m not saying pay a lazy kid
doing a mindless job fifteen dollars an hour. I’m saying pay that 25/30/40 year old that’s
in school or recently graduated, who's tried even when it’s hard! These are good people who want to work to earn their living. ------They deserve more!------
Why are so many companies blind to
this?
Seriously... You people are hurting yourselves. You’re
hurting your bottle line. You are limiting yourselves. Oh, and you're screwing over your employees, hampering them in their personal lives.
These employees you are driving away
are the ones who will go on to new jobs with new companies and take them into
the upper echelon (something which you’re incredibly unlikely to even sniff, if
you’ve got this asinine practice).
Let’s put this in perspective, you
up and coming, poorly compensating companies… McDonald’s pays an average wage
roughly two to three dollars above minimum wage to its entry-level workers.
They offer tuition reimbursement programs… and they are thriving. Believe it or
not, they are capable of turning away poorly performing workers and getting rid
of sub-par performers because they pay even high school kids just starting off
decently.
Walmart, despite the massive
negative publicity against it, pays its entry-level employees—aka anyone inside
the story which isn’t management—an average of over $12 an hour. Walmart does pretty well for itself, and,
surprise, surprise, their good workers stay around, get raises, get promoted
and, ta freaking da, receive equitable compensation! (Yes, I get it there are a LOT more factors involved, but I'm not talking about those...at the moment...)
But why would you follow the lead of
companies which have been wildly successful? Because you’ve heard the cries of
the lazy and entitled about how they
deserve to be paid better as well? Because you have a hard time imagining the
drastic effect of paying your $12 an hour worker the $25 an hour they deserve?
I promise, after the cost of
turnover and training, the loss of little bits of and knowledge, among other
qualities, you’re getting a steal for these employees you’re underpaying until
they run off to a company which treats them well.
I could go on. Sit me down in person
and I gladly will. But I don’t want to bore you.
Just do yourself—and your employees—a
favor and pay people what they’re worth. And yes, sometimes that means a raise
of $5 instead of your standard 25 cents every six months or year.
Do it. Seriously. Give them a raise. Call it a selfish act, because you'll be reaping as much a reward as your previously under-paid employee.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Being a Server/Waiter(ess)
I’ve worked as a server at Red
Lobster for a little over three years now. It’s given me a glimpse into a life
I’d previously never understood or appreciated.
Most servers I’ve met are young,
going to school—unqualified. I’d say maybe two thirds of these people are
actively working on bettering their lives—they are working toward becoming
teachers or nurses, physical therapists… And yet, I’ve found—at least where I
live—an incredible stigma against servers.
You see, as a server, I’ve realized
you’re subjected to, on a daily basis, people who simply look down on you. The
job of a server is degrading, or it can be. Much like working at McDonald’s has
become synonymous with a lower tier job undeserving of respect. Nobody of quality could possible debase
themselves to such a point as to serve. These are jobs for the helpless, the
hopeless… the lazy and unambitious…
What a load of crap.
Serving is the hardest job I’ve ever
had. That’s not hyperbole or exaggeration. While it doesn’t entail extensive
schooling, to do it truly effectively requires a multitasking ability beyond
anything I’d ever experienced. Beyond that, I have to be nice, perky, and kind
to a wide variety of, pardon my French, assholes, regardless of whether or not
I have energy that day or am in a good mood. The margin for error is extremely
low. Being a server requires you to be your best self the entire time you’re
working. Regardless of what many people may say. How many jobs actually require
that?
When I started working at Red
Lobster I was shortly removed from a college degree. I’d been a warehouse supervisor,
a mortgage loan officer and processor. I’d done SEO management; I’d done
construction and roofing across a variety of spectrums. I didn’t jump into
serving as some punk kid. I was hardly uneducated and I’d had a handful of jobs
most people wouldn’t last in for a day. But you know what I quickly realized?
People (guests) don’t care. They assume. I’m older now. What do I appear to be
to people who come to eat at my restaurant? Some man who’s never bothered to
better himself? A lazy freeloader feeding on the underbelly of society? An inconvenient
interaction necessary for them to get their food when they deign to delight me
with their presence?
I’ve been extremely lucky. In an
incredibly bad economy I’ve been able to cut out a decent living doing freelance
writing with serving as a supplement to my income which also keeps me on an
even keel socially. I make far more per hour writing than I ever could serving.
But in serving I have interaction with people, I have a job that’s difficult
and can be instantly rewarding… But I find far more frustration in my serving
than I possibly could with my writing.
You see, I’m looked down on as a
server. Most of my guests don’t know I write. They don’t know I make far more
writing than I ever could serving. I’m assuming they see a late twenties male who
is good for nothing. Maybe I’m wrong, but given my general treatment, I’m going
to assume I’m right.
“Hey, my name is Brandon, I’ll be
your server. How are we all doing today?”
“Diet Coke.”
“Interesting, I didn’t realize that
was a mood/emotion/feeling. But I’ll be happy to grab that for you!”
This is a regular interaction for
me. No, I don’t see an inherent problem with people who know what they want and
want to forgo human interaction to get it. But the difference in decent, polite
behavior is a matter of a handful of words—ten to fifteen seconds at the most.
Fine, you don’t want to talk to me
when you sit down—that’s completely okay! Not everyone prides themselves on a
job well done, but I’ll treat you as best I can, regardless of the fact you’re
rude in a way I hope you’d never be to anyone else in your life. I’ll even strive
to be quick and efficient. By golly, I’ll even be nice and say I’m glad you
came to Red Lobster when you leave! Most people would say I’m fishing for tips.
Nope. Wrong. I’d say with about a 90% accuracy I already know who is going to
tip me decently. I treat all my guests well because it’s simply the right thing
to do.
Wait. Stop.
Being nice, being courteous is
right? I don’t believe it…
Given my experience as a server it
would be extremely easy to believe nobody has to be nice, to care, or to be
respectful.
Get my order and get out of my face!
Believe it or not, most servers are
capable of reading their guests. We can tell in a few seconds whether or not
you’re worth our time. Sometimes we’re wrong… But sadly, we’re usually right…
And good servers, truly good
servers, you know what? They treat you the same regardless.
In my honest opinion, most of all ya’ll
don’t deserve it.
Blunt. Harsh. But true.
Most people I serve deserve crappy
service. But serving is one of my jobs. And I don’t do a job halfway. So you’ll
get service as if you were a king or a queen, knowing full well you’ll tip me
$5 on a $150 dollar check, and you’ll act like you’re doing me a favor (FYI at
that point I’m paying to serve you… thanks!).
You know what… it averages out. I do
my absolute best because I had awesome parents who taught me to work... They
taught me to do my best even when nobody is watching and nobody cares. For
every guest or table I have that tips 5% I have a good, caring person who tips
me 40% for no other reason than because they know there are stupid, mean, angry
people who tip poorly for a wide variety of reasons that wouldn’t hold up with
any amount of scrutiny.
Serving, at times, is a thankless
job. Many (not all) guests truly don’t appreciate you unless everything magically clicks, though you're the focus of their rather if anything goes wrong (sorry, I really didn't cook your food...). Most people? They want food. You’re a necessary step between sitting down and getting
what they want. Oh, and seven drink refills and six baskets of bread (oh, and DIET soda, because I'm I'm trying to lose weight... Wait, you forgot my three extra orders of ranch?!). And extra
butter. And cocktail sauce. And a new fork. And napkins.
All requests come separately,
naturally. Why aren’t you being faster? It’s not like you have other guests to take
care of…
Look, I get it; serving is an easy,
mindless job.
The problem? It isn’t.
Not if you’re busy. Not if you’re good at
it. I’ve got 23 guests to deal with. Seven need refills on their drinks. 6 need
some kind of sauce. 2 need an extra plate/napkin/their check. If I'm lucky the rest are happily eating. But that's not usually the case.
Yes… Serving is an easy, mindless
job... The problem? It’s not. Stop being rude. Stop looking for stupid, minor,
nearly meaningless excuses to tip less. Believe it or not, servers don’t like
paying to serve you. Usually, we get paid $2.13 an hour for the pleasure of
dealing with people who think we’re the dregs of society. Depending on the restaurant we have to give a large percentage of your (assumed though often not given) 15% tip to bussers or bartenders. For people who refuse
to tip well, don’t act terribly surprised if we know who you are and have lost
the willpower to be the good people we constantly strive to be.
I mean, after all, how excited would you be to realize you had to smile while you mow your awful neighbor's lawn? Not appealing? Welcome to the life as a server. The difference? The average person treats their neighbor's lawn better.
I hope someone spits in your food.
P.S. I will never spit in your food. But sometimes I really, really want to...
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