cocktail servers

In the next election, I'm voting for whoever can promise me legislation to prohibit the creation of any new Beyonce wax figures.

This Beyonce Wax Figure looks like a Jessica.  She’s a Britney Spears & Shakira impersonator moonlighting as a cocktail server.

This one is Amber.  She got her Associate’s in Office Management but recently switched careers to work as a flight attendant and photography hobbyist.

Candice recently got clean and has her 90-day pin. Congratulations Candice.

anonymous asked:

Fine dining lady: I've gotten slack over my expectation to be tipped properly for our high end food but tonight gave a taste of what we deal with. My poor coworker had a table sit at 945 (we are supposed to stop seating at 9 on Sundays with last call at 10 but us bar servers/cocktailers are treated like shit by the hostesses) and they stayed until past midnight. We can never ask a guest to leave. They barely tipped too. My poor coworker and bartender spent an hour just waiting on them to leave.

New York Story

A magnificent city. So many people everywhere. The air thick with heat. Streets cracking open. The traffic almost like a dance, cars weaving across lanes trying to get somewhere fast faster fast. Yellow cabs and black cars. Scaffolding cloaking buildings. Bodegas with grimy windows. So many restaurants. So many people. Skyscrapers, one after the other as far as the eye can see. Everyone dressed fashionably. Dark, raw denim and hard leather shoes. Business suits, tailored to fit. Women in sheath dresses and high heels. Teenagers in basketball shorts. The smell of shit and piss, hot, inescapable. Crowded sidewalks. Everyone moving fast faster than me, always standing out in the crowd, trying to hide in plain sight and stay out of the way. Food carts, steaming on the steaming pavement. Hotdogs of suspicious provenance. No appetite. Construction workers and other men who work with their bodies standing in clumps of three, dirty tshirts stained with sweat and paint and who knows, worn work boots, voices heavy with that New York accent, jawing about everything and nothing and then it’s back to work. Jackhammers. Cranes high in the sky with cables dangling. So many people everywhere. Three days in a radio studio. Interviewing fancy people. Trying to create something. Women in workout clothes with perfectly chiseled bodies and angular faces. Everyone wearing headphones. At night, the air still thick with heat, cooling too slowly. Easier to breathe, though. A steakhouse, crowded, young professionals with impeccable and expensive haircuts drinking expensive drinks and boasting of exploits real and imagined. Brown people everywhere, so many kinds of brown. So many languages moving through the air. Huge strollers. Crowded parks. Lunch in a church sanctuary. Cold hotel room. Huge bed. No sleep, staring at that empty space. Writing a hundred letters I can’t send. I might send. Like a vital organ is missing. Slick hotel bar, rooftop, stylish, weathered leather couches. Cocktail servers in identical tight minidresses. Gin. Each day I count the hours I need to wear a mask, play pretend and then when I can be how I feel, the relief of my shoulders and face falling. So much quiet. Nothing to say. Olympics and strange sports and amazing athletes doing things I don’t even dream of. A Brooklyn bar. Over capacity. Sweating. Sweating. Reading about Ina and Channing and teaching. Autographs. Compliments that are kind and baffling. A grand old building, also in Brooklyn. Sold out crowd of people who want to…. hear me? Long signing line. A moment to forget. And then it’s over. And I don’t want to forget anyway. Holding on from a distance. Because I can’t, despite all efforts, do otherwise. It’s allowed. Black car. The airport. Crowded, chaotic, filthy, damp. Home. And then if I don’t change my mind on to another magnificent city, likely someday will be home city. You, everywhere.

TalesFromYourServer: The Rollercoaster Ride that was This Evening

Any of you guys ever have that shift that constantly bounces around in every which way possible? Well that shift was this evening, and it follows for anybody whom cares to read this lengthy post:

I walk in to my PM bartending shift to learn that the first of our two cocktail/bar servers called out. No big deal though, they convinced a fellow coworker (my brother, actually) to come in early and work the bar instead of the dining room, and moved the second cocktail server to the dining room; thus leaving only my brother and I to work the bar, with me taking a whole bar top and quite a few tables as my section.

Que the beginning of the fun; my shift begins with my morning bartender sitting down for a post-shift drink and two different pairs of two guys at the bar top. As usual, my fellow bartender hooks me up, leaving me $40 in cash for his $22 tab, fuck yeah. Immediately following, the farther of the two guys end up stiffing me on their two rounds and food, but I let this one slide because it seemed like an accidental miscommunication wherein one guy was supposed to leave cash and didn’t. The other two newly twenty-one year olds who kept “Ay bro”-ing me, however, also stiffed me on their $30 check of “Lemme get”’s. Then, I had an unfortunately correct hunch about another younger couple whom I thought I had recognized from before, and received $5 on $62 from the boyfriend who slammed his two long island iced teas.

Before all of these pairs cashed out, I spy one my one-of-a-kind regular couples walk in and sit at the first table of my booth section and think, “Cool, easy ten bucks.” I graduated from college exactly one week ago, and the wife, just as she had done for me before, made me an elaborate, handcrafted card, complete with my school’s colors and symbols to congratulate me and wish me luck for the future, all with a $50 bill rolled up and tied like a diploma inside! (For reference: Some of my coworkers call me Wally and I had a bunch of car trouble around the holidays one year, and she crafted me a Wall-E Christmas card with a Pep Boys gift card). On top of this, I got their anticipated $10 tip and I’m ballin’ out for only being an hour into my shift.

The dust settles; I have a couple easy tables, and I make more martinis and mixed drinks for the restaurant than I had all weekend long (an odd occurrence in our restaurant, since Tuesdays and Sundays are expectedly the joke of all shifts in trying to make any money). The lull of the night hits and the bar has been dead, and a little over two hours before closing time, both my brother and the curbside get but at the same time, leaving me hold down the entire bar and all drinks by myself. I’m an experienced server and I’ve been in this situation before, so its no big deal, I could use the cash right now anyway. Well go fucking figure, tonight is the only night in the archival history of Sundays where I get busy when this happens, and it turned into a clusterfuck.

The dining room gets a little busy, but there were quite a few drinkers out tonight, so I was a little busy at the well. I get two new couples at my bar top, and have four tables in booths at this point. Well sure shit, a server in need asks me directly for a Bud Light because she needed it ASAP, and the keg blows. Rang and sent food for both couples and one other table I had, changed the keg, grabbed and delivered bread for all three couples, and poured the beer. Now, tickets are coming up for a few minutes like Whack-a-Mole, the final of which being a margarita on the rocks. Well, our dumbass general manager can’t order anything correctly because she chances stock and won’t spend the money, so lo and behold we’re all out of sweet and sour mix (despite the fucking truck coming yesterday). Here, I have to wing a cumbersome “scratch” mix with powdered S & S and hot water, and of course, I don’t use ANY of it at all for the rest of the night.

During the storm, a family of two parents and their children come in to order to-go. They order five pretty easy plates and the dad sits at the bar top while his family goes to the car and he waits for the food. The gentleman orders our largest Modelo, and as luck would have it, that keg also blows; rinse, wash, and repeat from earlier. During this, I have another solid few regulars, and I get a few 30%-50% tips, nice. Modelo man’s food finally finishes, and I get stiffed yet again on his $72 to-go order.

During the tail end of eight tables, a bar top, and to-go orders, I greet a family of five that I have to let sit for about seven minutes because I got stuck with the kitchen about shit we 86’d and didn’t get told about. Despite the time, I walk over and the parents and their daughter with her son and newborn still have no idea what they want, and ultimately opt for nothing but happy hour specials. We ended up being out of traditional wings (which I also wasn’t told), and had to negotiate alternate options. Long story short, their food took forever, and despite $20+ in happy hour discounts, I earned $5 on $72.

We’re finally closed, I have a shitload to clean, and my drawer is somehow short $10 after I thought it might’ve been over by $20. Bummed, I cleaned for another half an hour, and my manager came out to say the morning drawer was probably off, and I got $13 back. I finished up with my Pandora playing (I never put on my own music while I’m cleaning, but I had a hair up my ass), all the songs were on point, and my manager and I shot some shit and hung out for a little while. I told him that after almost five years at my job, I might very likely be leaving some time in the very near future to work at the restaurant my girlfriend does, and that I had put him down as my reference on the application this morning before work. From there, we talked some shit about our restaurant’s owners and how he’s backing me up on everything.

The moral of the story: I guess not all rollercoaster shifts are so bad after all, and you just have to power through. It’s two in the morning, my girlfriend is almost home from her closing shift, and we’re going to talk about our nights’ woes over some drinks. Even more, I might be nearing the end of my days at my shithole of a restaurant to do better elsewhere. Thanks to all for listening and sorry for such a lengthy post, hope you guys all make good money and catch any breaks you’re working for. Cheers everybody.

By: ShaqsHouse

Bar Knowledge: 5 tips on becoming a greater bartender!

A bartending job is much harder than you might think. Taking care of a bar (bar-sitting) is one thing, becoming a great host, entertainer, server, team player, chef, and do-it-all is another! Here are 5 Tips on becoming a better bartender.

  1. Have the knowledge. And more importantly be hungry for it. Nobody wants a badly made drink, and even worse, nobody wants to order their preferred drink and get something completely different! People feel taken care off and safe, when they are in the hands of a knowledgeable bartender. Study to become better every moment you can so when somebody asks you for a cocktail they presume you don’t know, you will not only know, but make them the best one they ever had! SMART!
  2. Know your responsibilities. From coming in and knowing how to prepare your night, to closing your station properly and everything in between. Be responsible for your actions and make sure you’re focused. Don’t serve another drink to a very drunk customer. Give them a glass of water instead. Don’t have sex in the bathroom with a customer and leave the till unattended, ask your friend to keep an eye while you’re gone. RESPONSIBLE!
  3. Be a great team player. Try working in harmony with your co-workers. The work dynamics can be easily destroyed by one person being out of tune and can lead to problems down the line. The most important skill a bartender should have is good communication. You’re a team, like an ant colony or them dudes that fix up the F1 cars in the pits. TEAMWORK!
  4. Have Style. There is a form of showmanship needed in this industry. People go to cocktail bars to have a good time, for the experience. The part of that experience in not just the drink, but also you. Whether it is juggling 3 bottles in the air or a stylish twist of a spoon, create your own style and personality behind the bar which will make you stand out from the rest. ROCKSTAR!
  5. Be Humble. This is by far the most important, but often neglected point. Especially by young bartenders who just moved up from being average highball & beer servers to cocktail makers, and now think that they are super cool *coughHipsters*. The moment you think you know everything, is the moment you will stop your progress. You are not a brain surgeon, chill…, know that you know nothing (like Jon Snow). This is the beauty of our industry. Every time you step into a subject like for example vermouth, or bitters, you can spend months doing your research and still just scratch the surface. SO GO OUT THERE AND BECOME BETTER!

If you enjoyed this article share it with people and hit that like button! Also if you have any questions or want to share your thoughts please comment below. - UM. Thanks guys!


heheh…. I drew an oc for the au

if you can’t understand what the writing says
name: Zuri Theta Vow
age: 16
Gender: Female
height: 5'5"
race: nekomusme
sexuality: pansexual
job: cocktail server
location: Casino
💙 status: n/a
info: flirty, trusted, lost in thought
illness?: Anxiety
Health: 5/10
strength: 4/10
intelligence: 5/10
perception: 8/10
creativity: 3/10
humor: 6/10
confidence: 4/10
disciline: 5/10
empathy: 7/10
wepond(s): bow and arrows
accessories: n/a
other info that’s not on the paper:
hair/ears/tail: darkish light grey
eyes: hazel
fur: lighter than her hair
I hope you like it ^\^

hey y’all! i’m kari and i’m the worst at intros. i’m also the worst at adulting but trying my best. just like val here! 

🌹 karen gillan🌹 have you seen valerie harrington around rose hollow lately? the 25 year old female is currently a cocktail server at denali’s casino. according to their peers, they’re smart & adaptable, but i hear that they could be argumentative & secretive. in case you haven’t heard, word on the street is that, she’s on the run from her criminal parents, but who knows if that’s true. 🌹 kari / mst / 20+ / she/her 🌹

Keep reading

Restau-Rant: Why Some Of You Should Just Learn to Cook

Guys, I’m just going to come right out and say it. 

You know that saying, “the customer is always right?”

I have a different saying.   

“The customer, a good 60% of the time, is a huge fuckin’ idiot." 

A lot of us work in the service industry.  We spend our week hosting, serving, bussing, managing, cooking, dishwashing, mixology-ing, whatever you want to call it, we DO those things.  Now, I totally understand that some of the people who work in a restaurant can be assholes, (because let’s face it, there are a LOT of people who are assholes,) but I’m going to say that for every one poor and hardworking restaurant employee there are at least a handful of people who should never go out in public when they are hungry.  They should stick to pudding packs, or sacrificing goats, or whatever they do at home, but for the love of God, avoid restaurants entirely.  Buy an easy-bake oven and get the fuck out. 

I’m going to throw out a few things from my experience TODAY just so you get an idea of the calibre of people that we deal with on a day-to-day basis.  This post can in no way possibly cover all of the stupid shit that customers do at a restaurant, so stay tuned for parts two through oh, I don’t know, fucking INFINITY. 

First off, here are some questions I get on the regular.  Top four that I hear ALL the time.  Stop asking them.  It’s making you look like the appendix of society, and it proves that in some cases, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution is completely fucked. 

1) Do you have a bathroom?

No.  We don’t.  We all pee in our hands here.  Or else we have to hold it.  We require our customers to walk a few blocks down to the gas station on the corner, or offer a complimentary phone call twenty minutes before your reservation reminding you to empty your bladder.  Feel free to ask me where the bathroom is, but stop asking if we have one.  This is 2014, and the majority of us don’t eat in mud huts.

2) Is that the bar?

No.  That big thing that has drinks on it, and bartenders behind it is not the bar.  That’s actually a magical doorway that leads to Narnia.  Typically we have it blocked off because it’s pretty dangerous, but what the hell, tonight, run wild. 

3) Do you have blankets?

Are we a fucking Bed Bath and Beyond suddenly and I completely missed the memo?  I get cold at restaurants too.  But unlike some, I’m aware of the fact that temperature is a thing we all have to deal with, and I’m also aware of the fact that it changes pretty regularly on a day-to-day basis so I’ll bring a jacket or deal with it.  I don’t go to an appointment in my eye doctor’s office and ask him for a coat when it’s a little chilly, why in the name of fuck would I do it at a restaurant?

4) Can you throw this away for me?

Hey, seriously.  Thanks for bringing in your collection of old coffee cups, tissues, wadded up gum napkins, and whatever the fuck your grandmother had at the bottom of her purse in 1920.  It’s unfortunate that you don’t have a trashcan at home, but it’s cool because I like touching your germs.  I decided when I was four I was going to make it a hobby of mine to throw away other people’s shit.


Please be aware that when you go to a restaurant you are in public.  Public, according to Webster’s Dictionary is a place where you have to interact with other human beings and not be a complete fucking cave dweller who can’t control any primal psychosis that you may or may not be aware you have.  Webster’s words.  Not mine.

Class, guys. We don’t all have it.

Here’s an example of everything wrong with society.  This was ONE party.

Tonight a woman came in with her husband and two young sons.  She told me there were two of them. But because I’m not blind and I’m fairly good at math, I was able to count four of them.  Granted, two were tinier versions of the older two, but they still looked a lot like humans to me.   

Real quick, did everyone in the world who has children get together and have a meeting about how you’re just going to fuck with people at restaurants by not counting your children as part of a reservation?  Were you guys just like “yeah, let’s confuse them and pretend the kids aren’t here and then they’ll be surprised and probably also really happy to see extra children that they need to find space for.”  If you are two adults, and two kids, there are actually four of you.  We still need to find room for the kids to sit down.  Unless you’re Harry God Damn Potter and you taught your kids how to hover above the table so that you only need a two top, STOP casually forgetting to add them to your party.

We don’t have a table right away for her, because we’re a busy restaurant, but we tell her it’ll be a short wait.  Not a problem.  I show her over to the lounge area where a cocktail server can help them with some drinks while we wait for their table to become available.

QUICK FUCKING SIDEBAR.  IF YOU’RE A WALK-IN AT A BUSY RESTAURANT AND YOU DON’T MAKE A RESERVATION, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EVER BE PISSED OFF, EVER, THAT THERE IS A WAIT. If you don’t want to wait 30 minutes, then you know, just use your fucking legs or cane or wheels or tentacles or whatever the fuck you have and go out the door. We didn’t trap you here as soon as you came in, you’re not under contract.  Do us all a favor and just head to a Burger King instead of hanging around the host stand and staring at us like a mildly retarded pitbull who looks like they might attack at any moment.

Moving forward.

Five minutes later I turn around, and the two ADULTS have their feet, yeah THEIR FEET THAT THEY WALK AROUND ON, on the table, THE TABLE YOU EAT AT.  


After asking politely for them to put their feet down, because it’s a health code violation, and because no one wants Tom fucking Sawyer foot disease after eating some bread, the woman had the balls to roll her eyes at me and go “Wow.  Seriously?”  Yes, seriously Dennis the Menace.  Take your feet off the table.

Eventually, their wait is up.  So I show them over to a table.

“Follow me right this way” typically means, move one foot after the other and watch where I go, and make sure that you also go there.  It doesn’t mean stare blankly at me while I start walking away from you holding menus.  That would be counter-productive.

They get to the table and she looks at her husband and rolls her rolly fucking eyeballs, (which at this point should just roll the fuck out of her stupid head and save themselves,) and goes “Is this okay?” 

Guys.  Let me tell you why it’s okay.  It’s okay because the hostess just dealt with a god damn treasure map of a schematic and a couple of algebraic formulas to figure out what server could give you the best service without being swamped by too many tables.  We looked at what tables are reserved for reservations, what tables are best to accommodate children, what tables aren’t too loud, aren’t too quiet, aren’t too cold, aren’t too round, aren’t too boothy, etc. etc. 

We just did a magic trick to get you seated, so yes, it’s fucking okay, and you don’t get to have a debate amongst family and move wherever you want.  If you don’t want a hostess, head to a McDonalds and sit in the pit full of multicolored plastic balls for all I care. 

After I almost witness a fight that could create a divorce, she decides the table is not okay. 

At this point I play a fun hostess game called “Follow this party as they wander around the restaurant while they decide they hate every table that’s available while also being in the way of food runners and servers.”

Eventually they sit, and it’s fine, I no longer have to deal with them and now it’s the servers job to clean up spilled drinks, broken glasses, and tell them to stop haphazardly ordering shit that isn’t on the menu.

I’ll finish the shift, clock out and move on with my life.  But the point is, this is ONE customer.  ONE.  

I KNOW you guys are better than that.  And some of you are truly wonderful people to encounter at a restaurant.  But for those of you like rolly-polly-stupidfuckineyeballs, I seriously pray for a world where one day we can all get together and write Yelp reviews on you.  

Until then, thanks so much for coming, glad you enjoyed your meal, & have a great night. 


Imagine Coming Out To Your Parents Going Sideways

For Anon (it gets better)

You finally got the courage to come out to your parents and guess what they kicked you out. Yeah your dad shoved you out the door and your mom threw all by my of your clothes and your purse at you.

Now you’re standing out in the cold trying to stuff as much clothes as possible in your bag. You sort of saw this coming so you have a bag hidden in a bush with all your savings and some essentials in it. Grabbing the bag and throwing the finger to your house you stomp off the property and into the night.

You ended up on the streets of New York walking by a busy club.

“Hey sweetie!” oh no you’d knew this would happen.

“Come on have fun with us!”

“I’m a lesbian!” you snap back angrily. You have had e-fucking-nough.

“Bet we can turn you.” You whip around hands clenched into fists.

“No I don’t think your tiny dicks can turn me” you growl out. There’s three of them and they are all obviously drunk.

“Little bitch!” one surges forward and you clock him in the jaw. He crumples and his buddies just run.

“Seems like the girl has more balls than you three” a red headed woman chuckles. You smirk pridefully and look up to see green eyes and charming smile.

“Thanks I guess” you say.

“I’m Natasha and I’d like to get to know you better” the women muses and shakes your hand.

“(Y/N)” you state. Natasha hangs into your hand and pulls you into the club. It’s surprisingly mostly empty.

“Come on meet my friends. This is Tony, Steve, Clint, Bruce, Wanda and Pietro” Natasha introduces addressing each person one by one. They all chorus hellos.

“Why is this club so empty?” you ask.

“Oh I own it and this is a private night Avengers and friends only” Tony replies and your eyes bug.

“Oh wow I’ve been an invited to an Avengers party” you mumble and run a hand through your hair. You a homeless gay kid invited to an Avengers party.

“Yup so enjoy it!” Clint says and then everyone casually disperses.

“So where do you live?” Natasha inquires and grabs you a cocktail from a passing server.

“Here and there” you lie.

“Hmm here and there. I suppose you mean you don’t exactly have a home” Natasha concludes seeing right through you.

“Yeah I don’t parents kicked me out after I told them I was gay” you admit and causally down the entire drink.

“Dam that is not right, hey you should come stay with us!” Natasha exclaims.

“Wait what?!? Why would you invite me to live with you I’m just some random stranger!!”

“Cause I have been where you are before.”

That was the end of that. All the Avengers agreed to let you stay probably because Natasha was glaring right behind you.

You made your home in an apartment off Natasha’s and befriended everyone.

You earned your place in the tower by doing odd and end jobs and soon the Avengers became your family and the tower your home.


Nicole Nguyen (@NikNgn): former Hooters Casino host, local Vegas model, Rehab cocktail server, and entrepreneur says she was stiffed by Floyd Mayweather Jr. on a $25,000+ tab (after earning $32 million for the boring Maidana fight!) –