"Rocktober" is a stupid name, no matter how catchy Denver thinks it is.
The Rockies winning streak was incredible because it made for outstanding small talk.
And then they lost.
I'm working at Reiver's now, a sports bar/grill place near Wash Park, for those of you who don't know. I think Kara may be the only one who will end up reading this. Aaaaaaanyway, the people I work with are awesome; on Tuesday nights the wait staff gets to play trivia with all of the customers, and the bussers favorite passtime is playing the circle game with the waiters while they are carrying hot, hot plates of delicious food. That part is wonderful. The angry customers part is not so much.
I guess they're easy enough to deal with because they always say "Can I talk to your manager," and I am always relieved when they request that. Because then it means my manager will tell them what I was trying to tell them in a more eloquent manner with less nervous small talk.
Most of the people who come in think they are entitled to excellent service the moment they walk in. If they're in a group of seven people, they expect for there to be no wait and make it their own task to push tables this way and that so it works most conveniently to them.
There are two other types of people besides angry ones; unmemorable people (who are usually nice enough, but come and go-the majority of our customers fall into this category) and sad people. The sad ones are usually the regulars who come in the afternoons to drink. Last week a woman called and asked me to check the bar fora Paul Herman. The bartender pointed him out to me and when I told the guy he had a call, he said "Tell her I'm not here." So I did. And he drank more and then left and then other people drank and then left and Tony, a regular, put his arm around Sammie and she told me about how she felt bad standing up to the old creep because he was so lonely.
It's kind of depressing, but a it's becoming a fabulous people-watching spot. And I get paid to play trivia, which is fucking awesome.
I'm out like stretch pants. Adios.
And then they lost.
I'm working at Reiver's now, a sports bar/grill place near Wash Park, for those of you who don't know. I think Kara may be the only one who will end up reading this. Aaaaaaanyway, the people I work with are awesome; on Tuesday nights the wait staff gets to play trivia with all of the customers, and the bussers favorite passtime is playing the circle game with the waiters while they are carrying hot, hot plates of delicious food. That part is wonderful. The angry customers part is not so much.
I guess they're easy enough to deal with because they always say "Can I talk to your manager," and I am always relieved when they request that. Because then it means my manager will tell them what I was trying to tell them in a more eloquent manner with less nervous small talk.
Most of the people who come in think they are entitled to excellent service the moment they walk in. If they're in a group of seven people, they expect for there to be no wait and make it their own task to push tables this way and that so it works most conveniently to them.
There are two other types of people besides angry ones; unmemorable people (who are usually nice enough, but come and go-the majority of our customers fall into this category) and sad people. The sad ones are usually the regulars who come in the afternoons to drink. Last week a woman called and asked me to check the bar fora Paul Herman. The bartender pointed him out to me and when I told the guy he had a call, he said "Tell her I'm not here." So I did. And he drank more and then left and then other people drank and then left and Tony, a regular, put his arm around Sammie and she told me about how she felt bad standing up to the old creep because he was so lonely.
It's kind of depressing, but a it's becoming a fabulous people-watching spot. And I get paid to play trivia, which is fucking awesome.
I'm out like stretch pants. Adios.