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Monday was St. Patrick's Day. I work at an American chain restaurant/bar with some sort of Irish bent--the promotional materials say "Irish Hospitality," but I honestly think the main thing is that our menus are green.
. . . doesn't really matter. St. Patrick's Day is still, from what I can tell, just about our #1 day. Every single server was scheduled, every single bartender was scheduled, every single manager was scheduled (except the one who doubles as a bartender--she played bartender) . . . we even charged a cover for the bar because we had some sort of "St. Patrick's Day party". (This seems to have largely involved beer pong, a DJ, shooter girls, and enough people that I had trouble getting anywhere.)
Now, I missed the bulk of it. I was in the back rolling silverware for about five hours. (I seemed to roll it at about the same rate that it disappeared . . . anyway, I was happy enough--once you cram every available table (fewer than usual, since we cleared out half the restaurant for the party), there's absolutely nothing a host can do until someone gets up, no matter how many people are waiting to be seated.)
(Oh, and I'm immensely uncomfortable around large, hulking, loud, drunk crowds. I think there's a REASON that the GM made me the one to roll silverware, and I love him for it.)
Anyway, it's about 12:30 AM when the manager finally tells me to stop rolling and clock out (I was about to ask him to, since we didn't seem to be using up silverware anymore). I wander around the front to see if I recognize any familiar faces--the crowd is sufficiently huge and pressing that I quickly abandon the idea and just sort of stand awkwardly at the host stand making conversation with the other host. (Cursing out Coworkers moment, why is it that the only two hosts left at the end of the night were part of the morning shift? I don't mind the overtime, but . . .)
I'm wandering somewhere again, past the bar, when I see one of the men in a Security shirt a few feet from me jump the bar railing and grab someone.
"What the hell is going on?" I say, before I realize that there's a fight going on far too close for my tastes. I move away and see a few people being dragged out.
I decide I don't want to be a gawker, so I sit against a wall not facing a window and try to collect myself. This (about a minute later) is when some MORE sounds of a ruckus start at the bar.
They haven't even been fully kicked out yet when the third fight starts in a different section of a bar.
This is when I decide that the kitchen is definitely where I want to be. Another fight, this one involving some of our bartenders (one on the receiving end, the other trying to restrain someone), apparently happens while I'm back there.
The cops are already outside--either as part of a St. Pat's catch-people-drunk-driving thing or 'cause our resident cop is with us, I don't know, but I hear there are seven frickin' cars. It gets broken up. It gets broken up quickly. And everyone is kicked out of the restaurant about an hour before we were actually meaning to close.
What the hell? I hear we always have a fight on St. Pat's, but . . . four? In five minutes? That require everyone to have to leave the restaurant (barring staff)?
Even without gory details (which I don't have--the only real details I heard were the restraining bartender getting pulled off the guy he was trying to restrain and handcuffed, and also that the visual of the cops coming in fairly resembled a swarm), that was bad.
So, uh, yeah. For at least the next week or two, I think it's going to be hard for me to call someone an SC unless they start a fistfight. My basis for comparison has been a bit skewed.
Don't be an SC. Don't start fistfights in my restaurant. x_X;
. . . doesn't really matter. St. Patrick's Day is still, from what I can tell, just about our #1 day. Every single server was scheduled, every single bartender was scheduled, every single manager was scheduled (except the one who doubles as a bartender--she played bartender) . . . we even charged a cover for the bar because we had some sort of "St. Patrick's Day party". (This seems to have largely involved beer pong, a DJ, shooter girls, and enough people that I had trouble getting anywhere.)
Now, I missed the bulk of it. I was in the back rolling silverware for about five hours. (I seemed to roll it at about the same rate that it disappeared . . . anyway, I was happy enough--once you cram every available table (fewer than usual, since we cleared out half the restaurant for the party), there's absolutely nothing a host can do until someone gets up, no matter how many people are waiting to be seated.)
(Oh, and I'm immensely uncomfortable around large, hulking, loud, drunk crowds. I think there's a REASON that the GM made me the one to roll silverware, and I love him for it.)
Anyway, it's about 12:30 AM when the manager finally tells me to stop rolling and clock out (I was about to ask him to, since we didn't seem to be using up silverware anymore). I wander around the front to see if I recognize any familiar faces--the crowd is sufficiently huge and pressing that I quickly abandon the idea and just sort of stand awkwardly at the host stand making conversation with the other host. (Cursing out Coworkers moment, why is it that the only two hosts left at the end of the night were part of the morning shift? I don't mind the overtime, but . . .)
I'm wandering somewhere again, past the bar, when I see one of the men in a Security shirt a few feet from me jump the bar railing and grab someone.
"What the hell is going on?" I say, before I realize that there's a fight going on far too close for my tastes. I move away and see a few people being dragged out.
I decide I don't want to be a gawker, so I sit against a wall not facing a window and try to collect myself. This (about a minute later) is when some MORE sounds of a ruckus start at the bar.
They haven't even been fully kicked out yet when the third fight starts in a different section of a bar.
This is when I decide that the kitchen is definitely where I want to be. Another fight, this one involving some of our bartenders (one on the receiving end, the other trying to restrain someone), apparently happens while I'm back there.
The cops are already outside--either as part of a St. Pat's catch-people-drunk-driving thing or 'cause our resident cop is with us, I don't know, but I hear there are seven frickin' cars. It gets broken up. It gets broken up quickly. And everyone is kicked out of the restaurant about an hour before we were actually meaning to close.
What the hell? I hear we always have a fight on St. Pat's, but . . . four? In five minutes? That require everyone to have to leave the restaurant (barring staff)?
Even without gory details (which I don't have--the only real details I heard were the restraining bartender getting pulled off the guy he was trying to restrain and handcuffed, and also that the visual of the cops coming in fairly resembled a swarm), that was bad.
So, uh, yeah. For at least the next week or two, I think it's going to be hard for me to call someone an SC unless they start a fistfight. My basis for comparison has been a bit skewed.
Don't be an SC. Don't start fistfights in my restaurant. x_X;
. Hope that bartender is ok let us know.
And he drank more then the rest of us!
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