The Joys of Brunch

When I sat down to write today, I was planning on talking about one of my favorite new places, but the memory of yesterday’s brunch was still in my head and inspired me to go in a different direction.

For someone that works in a restaurant, there are few things worse than waking up on a Sunday morning, after a long Saturday night at work, to sling eggs and hash to the masses. A crowd of people who crawl out of the holes they’ve been hiding in the rest of the week. These people that come out for brunch are a “special” crowd, pretty much exclusive from the folks who come in for dinner.

They gather around the restaurant, half an hour before we begin service, impatiently waiting for the doors to open up at 11. Sometimes they want to be let in early, as if the hours posted are mere suggestions and not rules. They complain about being cold and hungry. I have no sympathy. They’re not homeless and this isn’t a soup kitchen.

The bugle sounds.
The Call to the Post.
The doors open.
And they’re off!
The rush begins.
Driven by a madness that only a cup of coffee, some eggs and a side-of-sausage-right-now can cure, these wild animals tear through the restaurant dragging their children and barking out orders.
A lovely way start to the day, right.

Yesterday:
“I’ll have the turkey hash, but instead of the bread, I want a salad.”
“Okay, there might be a slight upcharge for that, though. I’m not sure a salad is a viable substitution for toast.”
“What can I have instead that doesn’t have carbs?”
“Well, I suppose you could leave the bread off.”
“You know what, nevermind. I’ll have the two eggs and bacon.”
“Okay. How would you like your eggs cooked?”
“Like an omelette.”
“So you want an omelette?”
“No, I want them cooked like an omelette. Only the egg whites. And instead of the bacon, I want duck sausage.”
“So, you want the egg white omelette with a side of duck sausage?”
“No, I want egg whites cooked like an omelette. They’ll know what I mean.”

Needless to say, the kitchen wasn’t too psyched when I rang in this disaster of an order. My manager just looked at me, you’re kidding, right?

I could have been more helpful with this table, but they were rude and demanding when they sat down. If people who come into the restaurant act like children I have no problem treating them as such. If you reward them for their behavior, they’ll think that it’s okay. On the flipside, I suppose they don’t even realize that they’re doing anything wrong and probably just think that it is I who is the douchebag.

These are the shifts that you work only because they “fulfill a requirement,” like science classes for a liberal arts major. At most restaurants, there is a pecking order, generally based upon seniority. The new people generally get what they can take for shifts. If by working a brunch, you get the opportunity to work a couple of good night shifts then so be it. You’ll do your time, but you won’t necessarily like it. I don’t even care about the money, as I’ll probably spend it by the time I get home.