Life Behind Bars Chapter 9
- Ray DeGraw
- May 4
- 22 min read
Chapter 9
The Help
I have, in this short life, done it all. I have worked for a newspaper, I have worked in construction, I have worked in retail, and god help me, I have worked in an office. Out of all the occupations I have had, nothing compares to the people I have met while working in the food industry. Food service workers come from all different backgrounds, all different occupations and span all different types of skill sets.
Those who have your typical nine-to-five jobs are boring. They are sheep, mostly trained at the skill of doing one particular thing. To work in a restaurant you must possess a certain skillset, you must be able to multitask, think quickly on your feet and on top of that, you must have a great personality. Most importantly, you don’t need to have a degree or certificate or any sort of level of high education to land a job.
It is because of this unique set of circumstances that make restaurant workers a unique brand of animal. And in many situations, many of these people are in transition periods which leads them to sling suds, flip burgers and run food with the best of them. There are the college kids, the training nurses, there are the people rebounding from the bottom pit of life, crawling their way back up to the top.
It’s no wonder why the employee turnover is ultimately so high in this industry as most of the people in it are high skilled and eventually find they don’t belong. Most are eventually scooped up by the regulars of the restaurant who see the ultimate potential in these highly skilled multitaskers. There are those who wise up and move on to bigger and brighter things, those who decide to stay because they find this is what they were ultimately meant to do, and then there are idiots like me who decide to stay way longer than they should have.
It really is a great occupation for all of these types as the average restaurant employee can muster up a good 25 dollars an hour despite not having a degree in anything. Let’s not also forget that in a cash business, a good portion of the money isn’t reported to Uncle Sam, so 25 dollars an hour is more like 30 dollars an hour. In layman’s terms you’re looking at what amounts to approximately a 65,000 dollar a year job for not having a degree. Not too shabby, and more than enough to live on.
I’ve seen all types, from those who want to be there and those who don’t. From the fun loving extroverts to the angry and high strung malcontents. Yes, it takes all types and I have worked with them all. Each and every one of them has a special place in my heart, whether I loved them or hated them. In the end we were a team and whether we liked or disliked each other, we had a common goal, and that was to make as much fucking money as we possibly could…and to avoid the drudgery of the nine-to-five as long as humanly possible.
Things You Never Wanted to Know
A 'King Cut' prime rib is a day old. A 'Queen Cut' prime rib is two days old. A 'Prince Cut' prime rib is three days old. The beef barley soup you're sipping on is last week's unsold prime rib. Enjoy!
Sister Sarah
Every place has the loveable, peaceful and wise old sage that seemingly comes with the building. She has been there almost half a century, has seen and done it all and has survived half a dozen ownership and management changes. She has customers that began coming in when they were still in their mother’s bellies, and most likely will still be there when the next generation pops out.
Sister Sarah shoots from the hip and won’t hesitate to let you know you’re being a moron. She will teach you the right and wrong way to do everything, whether it’s the right or the wrong way. She knows every member of your family and what they are up to, because she is a great listener and genuinely cares about the people she works with and serves on a daily basis.
Sarah certainly could have done just about anything with her life, but like a lot of folks in this business, she found that she really just loves being a part of it all. And although she’ll bitch and moan at times about customers she doesn’t like, a co-worker that’s not one of her favorites, or about how ownership has imprisoned her for most of her life…deep down she has loved every minute of it. And when all is said and done, she will have no regrets at a life well spent.
Bi-Polar Penny
They say every person in this world has an opposite, which in the grand scheme of things, keeps the universe in balance. So as Sister Sarah is the rock and foundation of a finely tuned restaurant, Bi-Polar Penny is the raging yang to her peaceful yen. Penny has been there just as long, but the many years of service has eaten away at the young optimistic girl she once was.
Don’t get me wrong, she loves her job just as much. She just has a different way of showing it. Not only does she blame ownership for enslaving her for half of her natural life, she loathes them for it. Problem is, she knows nothing else and has been stuck in the same four walls for way too long to venture out and try it somewhere else. It’s this pent up anger that often gets unleashed on any coworker or customer that rubs her the wrong way.
Penny has the constant belief that her way is the only way and that she is the only person in the establishment that does any real work. Bartenders? They’re fucking lazy and have the easiest job in the joint. Cooks? Slow, arrogant any monkey can do their job and they’re out to get me! Fellow servers? Why do they keep getting all the good tables? Those are my regulars, not theirs! The nerve!
In the end though, Penny is the kind of person you want to have working when the shit hits the fan. She can overcome and conquer even when it seems like you’re never going to get out of the weeds. At shift’s end, you forget that she called you an asshole and a dipshit. You pour a cold shift drink, have a few laughs and realize that between Penny and Sister Sarah you just served damned near 200 dinners and everybody kicked ass in their tip jars.
Rumor Mill Randi
They say that sometimes the best weapon in the workforce is a well-placed rumor, whether intentional or unintentional. Randi is a weapon that can and will be used to unleash havoc amongst what used to be a tight knit group of coworkers. Perhaps you can use her get a message to the boss about the co-worker you can’t stand. Maybe put that co-worker in a bad light so we can replace her with somebody with a little more talent and a nicer pair of tits.
Randi thrives on taking peace, tranquility and harmony and turning it into pure chaos. She doesn’t work because she needs to, she works because she needs to get out of the house. Her life as a stay-at-home mom has become a boring and mundane exercise in futility. Daytime soaps, porn and masturbation no longer get her through the day while the kids are at school. A part time job used to bring excitement too, but even that grew boring and tedious.
It is up to Randi to create the unnecessary drama that didn’t need to be introduced into the situation. It creates her own soap opera…something to actually talk about when the husband gets home from working his ass off all day. Randi has gotten more people thrown into the unemployment line than a greedy politician’s tax cuts for the rich. She’s been a matchmaker, a house breaker and flat out stabber of backs. But if you know how to deploy this weapon to do your bidding, advantage you.
Homewrecker Harriet
Every restaurant I have ever worked in has two or three of these girls working; probably the main reason my loving wife was more than willing to let me retire in my mid-30’s to work on the house, watch the kids and write this book! Probably a wise choice on her part, but then again, she has always been the brains of the operation…whether I like to admit it or not!
Harriet usually comes with a boatload of baggage to say the least. Two or three kids, all from different men and usually one of them in college, even though she’s only 35-years-old. Usually most men would turn tail and run like the wind, but this siren has her ways and they are not to be trifled with! A gentle rub of her ass onto your nether regions at the precise moment of passing; a smile and a wink; an accidental rub of her fingers across your hand as she gives you cash for a paid check.
Let us not also forget to talk about her looks…yes she may be 35, and yes she may have pushed three kids out of that gunny hole, but man she still looks fabulous in those yoga pants and that half shirt with her enormous boobs hanging out. Oh, and did she just happen to mention in passing how she was late because she was shaving her pussy right before the shift started?
Yes, I have seen the strongest of men and the most honest of men get sucked into this succubus’s trap. Perfect marriages ruined after a few too many drinks at the annual Christmas party. She is never inclined to go after the half a dozen single men working alongside of her, no, she needs forbidden fruit to get her jollies. Nice try Harriet, but my wife, my kids, my self-respect and my house are more important than ten minutes of ill guided fun! Besides, I wouldn’t want it done to me.
Clarissa the Coed
There always is that waitress practicing politics as the business men slowly get stoned…yes Billy Joel you hit it right on the head. Many of the wait staff are simply passing time and earning a good buck while in the midst of their studies. That’s how most of us get caught up in this business. As I’ve said before, the smart ones move on…the dipshits like me stick around way passed their welcome.
The best part about Clarissa is that she’s not an idiot, and she’s not white trash…she mostly comes from good stock. Born into a family that holds values and pushes education and hard work is what brought her to your table with a hot plate of cheese fries and gravy. She goes to school by day, studies during the slow times at work and gets as many shifts as she possibly can to pay for her books and other college expenses. This girl is going somewhere and it’s always a shame when they graduate and move into the great wide open.
It’s always nice to work alongside somebody who isn’t a career restaurateur. It’s nice to work with somebody whose hopes and dreams haven’t been so cruelly crushed by the realities of life. Yes, you wreak of hope Clarissa, and I sure hope you find it and find it well. Otherwise, we’ll see you in two months when you realize you just pissed away five years of your life studying for a career you just learned you hate!
Perhaps it was the struggle you thrived on. Perhaps it was the multitasking and
the late hours. Who knows, maybe it was working during off hours and not sitting in traffic and being one of the sheep bleating and babbling their way home in a slow moving river of light every evening. Either way, it’s nice to have you back…because like me, you are stuck here!
Uncle Ray's Tricks of the Trade
A dash of salt and a vigorous stir will liven up a flat beer lickity split!
Lady’s Man Lenny
Being a happily married man, and remembering the days of being a single go-getter in this industry…I must live vicariously through Lenny. Maybe it’s his physique, his confidence, his youthful exuberance…or maybe the kid just has a really huge schlong. Who knows?! Whatever it is, this kid has banged every waitress both young and old that has come through the restaurant’s turnstiles for the past five years.
Every time some young filly comes walking through the door, within a matter of two or three shifts, this girl is drinking beers and doing the horizontal mambo with Lenny back at his apartment. He doesn’t even have to try, they’re attracted to him like flies on shit. And it’s not like he’s even the most attractive kid, or the kid with the best future prospects…let’s face it, Lenny is going to be working at the same place 20 years from now! So what it is? What is his secret? Who the hell knows?!
Either way, cheers to you my Casanova friend, you inspire all of us married men who have all but given up on sex. Coming into work and hearing of your latest conquest…and in detail mind you, give us all hope. And hope can be a wonderful thing. Twenty years from now you’ll be putting a small platoon through college and paying nine different woman child support and alimony…but man, it was worth the ride!
Round and Round Robyn
As a bartender, I’m usually on the front line when it comes to hiring new talent…and I must be honest, I’m not very good at it. Quite frankly I’m a sucker when it comes to it. One must remember, that there is a ton of turnover in the business, and it’s not out of the ordinary to have somebody come through the doors that has worked at a dozen different places throughout their career. In any other business that would be a serious red flag, but in the restaurant industry you have to take that with a grain of salt and hope that you get lucky and find a diamond in the rough.
Robyn has literally worked at every watering hole this side of the Mississippi, but for some reason her roots just don’t seem to get a firm grip in the soil. I’ve been duped so many times that I had been asked to not weigh in on new hires any more, and thank the good lord for that! There is nothing worse than hiring a nightmare employee, because the buck stops with you; and it is you and you alone that is at fault for bringing in this nitwit!
Robyn comes in all forms, but the one thing that is consistent about her is that she can dress herself up and bullshit her way through the door. All those other places she’s worked at….well it was always somebody else’s fault that it didn’t work out. The boss was a dick, they couldn’t work with my hectic schedule, there wasn’t enough money to be made there, I wasn’t getting enough shifts…you name it, and she has an explanation for it.
She can be the single mom with the deadbeat husband, the girl getting back on her feet, the recovering alcoholic that hasn’t touched the stuff in years even though her breath always smells of vodka when she strolls in 20 minutes late to every shift. What begins as all smiles and hard work, slowly but surely degrades into a lazy excuse ridden bitch that’s nasty with her co-workers and customers.
What really sucks is that you really wanted to give this person a chance to work her way out of the basement and back to the top. You try your damnedest to make it work, but she ends up being her own worst enemy. In the end she has to be let go when her actions become too crazy and chaotic to deal with any more. It usually culminates in a scene worthy of a reality show blowout. It quickly becomes apparent why her husband is no longer in the picture and why she has worked at more places you can count on your fingers and toes.
Robyn will end up working at your rival restaurant two doors down the road. The new owner shaking his head that you were crazy to let this girl go, she’s great! That is, until three months later when your competition comes in for a stiff drink after the cops hauled her off for starting a brawl with a customer because she was sick and tired of hearing how cold the fries were! Oh, Robyn, thank you for making our lives as difficult as humanly possible.
Uncle Ray's Tricks of the Trade
Most of the time the cup of soup and the bowl of soup are exactly the same size. Restaurant owners use different bowl shapes to fool the eye. So save a buck and just order the cup!
Summer Job Jenna
There is nothing in the world better than breaking out of the winter blues and catching a bit of good old spring fever. And there is nothing finer than ushering in a warm summer breeze and the college kids coming in looking for jobs. I’m not trying to sound like a dirty old man, I’m trying to sound like a frustrated old bartender sick and tired of being around the grumpy Gus’s of the world and making no money all winter. It is literally a breath of fresh air when the long haired rays of sunshine come knocking on the door looking to make a buck while they take a short break from their studies.
A lot like Clarissa the coed, but with a few differences. Clarissa is living at home with her parents, paying her own way through community college. Jenna’s parents have loot, and a lot of it. She is afforded the opportunity to take the winters off and concentrate 100 percent on her studies and get hammered on the weekends at the endless stream of college frat and sorority parties. In exchange for such decadence, her parents demand that she doesn’t sit around all summer and sun herself poolside.
There’s something honorable to be said about Jenna’s parents for making her work, after all my children will most likely have the same situation when they come of age. And yes, I will make them work in the summer times! Jobs build character as they say, and working a shit job builds it even more. Do you want to be a waitress all your life Jenna? I didn’t think so, so you better get good grades next year or you will be at community school with your pal Clarissa next semester!
(P.S., on a side note Ladies Man Lenny managed to bang both of these girls, and on multiple occasions...and as legend has it, at the same time! God bless you Lenny you magnificent bastard!)
Storm Cloud Sam
There is nothing on this planet that can lift your spirits and make you feel like the luckiest man in the world than spending a shift working with Storm Cloud Sam. He is never happy and consistently waiting for the world to crash in around him. Imprisoned by ownership because he knows he could never land a job anywhere else…his reputation proceeds him.
He can take a 75 degree spring day with a nice breeze and turn it into a mid-February snowstorm. The world is always out to get him and turn his existence into a horrific nightmare he will never be able to wake up from. He can make a man who just won a million dollars and convince him it’s the worst day of his life. Yes, Sam, you are a torrential downpour on an otherwise sunny day.
Sam is always his own worst enemy, making decisions that would make even the youngest and most ignorant men and women cringe at his god awful choices. He can’t get out from the storm cloud that follows him from roof to roof; if it can go wrong it will. If given a 99 percent chance to succeed he will somehow figure out how to fail. It is never his fault, mind you, it is somebody else pulling the strings and controlling his fate.
When customers walk through the door and see him behind the bar, they pretend they left something in their cars and never come back. When having a great time with the daytime bartender at happy hour, a sudden desire to pay the check and get the hell out of dodge fills the customers’ heads as he walks through the door. He is an absolute killer for the business at the bar, but you can’t get rid of him. He will take any shift offered to him and bail you out in your most dire of situations. The boss also knows if he gets rid of him, Sam will most likely be homeless, penny less, and in no short time, dead.
Moping Matt the Millennial
I can’t think of a more self-righteous, over privileged, underworked, entitled piece of shit. He cringes at the very idea of getting off his ass and taking a three second break from his precious smart phone. Any time he is asked to do something he sighs under his breath and mopes to-and-fro as the simple task of rolling some silverware becomes a hellish nightmare of torturous servitude.
Matt can’t understand why it takes him and his co-workers two extra hours at the end of the shift to go home, even though he spent every free second of his night seeing how many people posted “likes” on his Facebook post about how he hates his boss because he had the audacity to make him bus his own tables. Why can’t somebody else do it, he wonders…shit like this gets done at home for me all the time! I don’t know how, but it does!
He can never get to work on time because he never took the time to go and get his license to drive. That takes work and it’s not free! You mean I have to buy my own car and pay insurance and fill it with gas? And I have to maintain it? Did we lose a war, Matt wonders. Relying on friends just as motivated and responsible as he is, he is often forced to take cab rides to work. There is nothing like walking in a half hour late to the job being $20 dollars in the hole already! But it matters none to Matt, it’s a way of life.
If you try to punish him by sending him home he’s happy because he thinks he just got the day off! If you make him wait an hour before he gets his first table, he doesn’t take the opportunity to catch up on the side work he never does, he watches Youtube videos of dogs pooping on odd objects and tweeting about it…then patiently awaits the responses.
He cares nothing about making a 20 percent tip, as long as he has enough money to pay his cab fare back home and have enough cash for a six pack of the best IPA money can buy, a dime bag and a pack of smokes. He is the very reason society is crumbling at an accelerating speed. He is the reason chain restaurants are picking off the little guy one by one, homogenizing the restaurant experience and slowly making us all accept mediocrity. Thank you Matt. Thank you and the halfwit parents who brought you into this world. I thank you in advance for our eventual demise.
Angry Eddy
Making more money than anybody in the joint, whether the place has three customers or a 100, Angry Eddy the chef is never happy…ever. Even though he has never waited a table in his life, or poured a beer from a tap, he knows better than anybody in the front of the house. If you piss him off, he knows you work on tips, and he’ll purposely fuck up your food for the rest of the night.
He will be happy as pie one moment, whistling tunes as he carefully preps his food for the day. He has you try the soup du jour, waiting for compliments, as they are surely deserved. He talks with enthusiasm at the new dish he has concocted, and shows you how carefully and meticulously it will be plated. All is hunky dory, in the little world of little Eddy…that is until the first order comes through the printer.
“We don’t start serving lunch until 11am! How many fucking times do I have to tell you people that?”
“Well, Eddy, its 10:59am. I think we’re close enough!”
“Well they’re going to have to wait, I’m not fucking ready yet. Don’t expect this shit for another half hour at least!”
“So what you’re saying is that if I waited until 11, they would have their lunch by 11:15. But since I put the order in one minute early it’s going to be a half hour now? I’m just trying to understand the logic of all this.”
Yes, Eddy is an absolute douchebag. And for the rest of the shift he is going to take his sweet ass time making my food. He will purposely cook the meat to the wrong temperature. He will not expedite the sides properly so the sandwich will get cold as I wait for the fries and onion rings. Oh, and forget it if the customer (the person paying for and eating the food) wants to substitute mashed potatoes on what was his fancy pants special he was so eager to show me earlier in the morning. That’s going to send his anger into a whole other arena of bat shit craziness.
At shift’s end, Eddy is all peaches and cream. He sits at the bar, awaiting to have his shift drink and unwind. He apologizes for flying off the handle, as he had a rough night with the kids and the wife…apparently coming home at 3a.m. smelling like cheap perfume and covered in glitter from the strippers at the topless bar wasn’t acceptable. The nerve of the old lady! He then gets mad at you when you refuse to accept his apology because quite frankly, you’re tired of the bullshit routine. Then, it’s you who are the dick and the entire process begins yet again.
Gerry the German
Behind every jerkoff chef, there is an ever greater cook. He is the meat and potatoes of the organization. He is always there, never takes a day off, and is never phased by how busy or dead the place is. He always has a story to tell, and no matter how outlandish it may seem, you never doubt a minute of it.
His hands have more scar tissue than regular skin after years of severing off bits and pieces of his hands cutting meat, or protecting himself in a knife fight…who knows which. He’ll tell you it was a bit of both. He has a trick of the trade for everything, and always delivers in a pinch. Bartender severed his hand cutting limes? Send him to Gerry, he’ll use his training as an East German mercenary to mend you up and get you back on the floor ASAP! Because there’s nobody else to work this shift!
Whatever you do, don’t cross Gerry. He might not retaliate right away, but he will put it in the corner of his memory banks, waiting for you to lose your guard. Days may pass, maybe weeks…who knows, possibly months. In that time he will gain your trust, and joke about as if he’s forgotten that sly little comment you made to him in passing. Then, as you go into the walk-in box to grab lemon, he’ll sneak up behind you, pull a knife he has tucked away in an air duct, put it right underneath your cleanly shaven neck and say, “what was that you said to me, you little wise ass?!”
Sure, Gerry will let you go on your merry way, but not after you pissed your pants a little. Don’t fuck with Gerry, because he will always get your food out in time…and he is also very capable of ending your miserable little life…his words, not mine.
South American Andy
Where does he come from? Nobody really knows. How did he get here? Beats the crap out of me! Where does he live? Who the fuck knows. Is he legal to work in the US? Who cares, he works under the table for five bucks and hour and never complains about it. Yes, most kitchens across the great United States of America, the land of opportunity, are filled with South American Andy’s.
He works 23 hours a day, seven days a week and on his off hour he works part time for a landscaper. He doesn’t speak a lick of English, yet somehow he managed to get through a job interview, learn the menu top to bottom and be able to fully function in the kitchen. Half his paycheck goes to his American wife and seven kids, the other half goes back to an undisclosed country in the southern hemisphere to his other wife and seven kids.
Where this guy finds the time to do anything is a complete mystery to all. What we do know is, that this is the hardest working mother fucker in the entire building. Everybody always bitches and moans about immigrant this and immigrant that…but you try to find a white millennial dipshit that works even half as hard as this guy…I dare you! Every restaurant has about a half dozen of these guys and if it weren’t for them these places would crumble instantly.
Andy will have the last laugh in the end, that’s for damned sure. After burning the candles at both ends for a decade or two, he will triumphantly return to his homeland. He will return to his first wife and set of kids and spend the remainder of his days living on the resort his hard work and dedication paid for. Funny thing is, he might even run into his old boss, who is now spending thousands of dollars to have frozen drinks and sit on the white sandy beaches that Andy now owns.
Uncle Ray's Tricks of the Trade
Need to cut somebody off? Do it discretely by giving them water or coffee every time they ask for a drink. If that doesn't work throw a free plate of wings or mozzarella sticks in front of them. And if all that doesn't work feel free to make an ass out of them in front of everybody at the bar.
Artisan Arthur
Every bar has a barkeep that acts more like a chef than he does a slinger of suds. Arthur would rather spend his time concocting drinks than spending time talking with his customers. Standing alone in his corner with his beakers, test tubes, blenders and seventeen different types of glassware while the rest of his coworkers sweat bullets picking up his slack; Arthur carefully finds a way to pair the perfect drink to go with Eddy’s turnip mashed potatoes. Eureka! He’s done it! Too bad the guy at the bar wants onion rings instead!
If you want to turn a good profit and get out as many drinks as you can, your cocktail can’t take more than 15 seconds to make. Don’t tell that to Arthur! His latest creation has a blend of thinly sliced habanero and ancho peppers, a slice of par cooked bacon, a delicate mix of fresh herbs that have to be diced no more than ten seconds before the drink is shaken, not stirred. Oh yes, you master of the impossible cocktail, you’ve outdone yourself this time!
Of course the owner of the joint always loves this guy! He’s my best! He’s my go-to guy! The more ridiculous and harder to make the drink is, the more the owner loves it. After all, most owners have spent a grand total of 15 minutes behind the bar in the last 20 years, so of course he loves it! The icing on the cake is that after brainstorming the world’s most impossible drink to make, Arthur disappears when it comes time to prep it, make it, or clean up after it. Where he goes? Who the fuck knows!
Country Music Courtney
No matter where I’ve worked, there is always some jerkoff that likes country music. Courtney loves it so much she can’t shut the fuck up about it. The entire bar can be digging some chops by the Stones or the Beatles, maybe some Zep or Floyd, and without hesitation she will flip the switch. The minute you step away to go the bathroom, the ear-piercing screeches of steel guitar and songs about pickup trucks, shotguns and lost loves come floating through the airwaves.
The entire bar begins to moan wondering why in God’s name somebody will kill a great happy hour by putting on the dreadful misery that is country music. Like most people who can’t get enough country music, Courtney just can’t comprehend that most normal people can’t stand it! Sure we all love Johnny Cash, Willy Nelson and Kenny Rogers, they’re all great! But if I have to listen to Achy Breaky Heart one more time I think I might stick my finger in a light socket and hope for the best.
I have found that “new” country music has become popular with the millennial types…it’s no wonder, they have been trained to follow trends like sheep and accept mediocrity without question. Country music is the destroyer of all things great, it is mundane and unimaginative and it can suck the atmosphere out of the room quicker than if the escape hatch on the international space station blew open unexpectedly.
Once the music has been changed back to something with a beat and a lick of talent, Courtney laments and pouts and lets you know how much of an asshole you are for not playing her music. Eventually she gets in the ear of the owner, and she has her dipshit friends post fake reviews on Yelp about the horrible music being played at the bar. Before you know it, Wednesday night is line dancing night, and it's square dancing on Fridays! Your first beer is free if you come in with cowboy boots and hat to match!!
As the late great Tom Petty put it, new country music is just bad rock and roll with a fiddle. Amen, Mr. Petty, you are already sorely missed.
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