Calling all Manhattan Doormen!

December 2nd, 2008 by Waiter

I’m looking to interview several doormen working in New York City for my book “At Your Service.” If you or anyone you know is a doormen in a residential building, please email me at waiterrant@yahoo.com. Confidentiality assured.

I would also like to interview Manhattanites who live in a doorman building! If you’d like to talk about the ins and outs of tipping during the holidays, please write me at my email and we’ll set up an interview.

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Gay Mac

November 29th, 2008 by Waiter

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting inside a Starbucks waiting for my friend Alan. I just bought a new MacBook and Alan, who’s a real Appletista, has offered to show me around the unfamiliar operating system. The old laptop I wrote Waiter Rant on was obsolete and experiencing a terminal case of Windows entropy so I retired it. Alan’s owned a MacBook for three years and its working just as fast as the day he got it. That impressed me so, after years of using PCs, I bought my first Mac.

As I’m sipping my grande coffee and playing with my new toy, a shadow falls across my table. I look up. It’s Alan, holding a large frothy looking caffeinated confection. “So I’ve converted you,” he proclaims.

“My sexual orientation’s the same,” I reply “Sorry.”

“You straight guys always say that,” Alan replies. “But there’s hope for you yet, gorgeous.”

“How so?”

“You bought a Mac.”

“Huh?”

“Macs are very popular with us gay people,” Alan says.

“Owning a Mac means does not mean you’re gay,” I reply. “Gimme a break.”

“They say ten percent of all people are gay,” Alan says, sitting down. “Well, ten percent of all computer users are Mac users. Coincidence?”

“I think I’d like to see some numbers to back that claim up.”

“Windows machines are like potbellied men in their forties with back hair,” Alan says. “Macs are sleek, elegant, and beautiful – like Anderson Cooper.”

“Not that bullshit theory again,” I groan. My friends subscribes to the belief that any man over forty who’s trim and good looking is gay.

“Oh, it’s so true,” my friend says. “You know it is.”

“Barack Obama’s trim, good looking, and in his forties,” I reply. “That doesn’t make him gay.”

“One can only hope,” Alan says dreamily.

“You’re being stereotypical,” I said. “You hate when I’m stereotypical.”

“Yeah,” Alan says, “Like when you describe everyone from Mexico to Peru as Spanish.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, throwing up my hands. “The proper term is Latino. I get it. Forgive my Jersey upbringing. But just because you wish someone’s playing on your team doesn’t mean that they actually are.”

“Well you’re potbellied and forty,” Alan says. “So you probably are straight.”

“Hey,” I snap. “Enough with the potbelly remarks. I’ve lost six pounds.”

“Not in your ass,” Alan shoots back

“You would notice if my ass is fat.”

“When you finally do get your gallbladder taken out,” Alan says. “Ask the surgeon to perform a little liposuction. You need it.”

“My you’re bitchy today.”

“He’ll already be in there, babe.”

“I’ll stick to diet and exercise. Thank you.”

“You bought a Mac and you’re slimming down. I don’t know…….”

“Just show me how to use this computer,” I reply. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Okay Mr. Sensitive,” Alan says. “Just let me check my email first.”

“Be my guest,” I say, sliding the laptop towards him.

“You figured out the wireless Internet in this place?” Alan asks.

“Yep.”

“I’m impressed you could set it up.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I reply.

“Well,” Alan says, starting to type on the keyboard. “I have a date this evening with a beautiful Asian boy. I want to make sure it’s still on.”

“Where’d you meet this one?” I ask.

“Gay.com.”

“Have you met this fellow in person yet?”

“Tonight’s the first time. We’ve been chatting for a week.”

“So you just get together and hook up?”

“Basically.”

“Why isn’t there a straight version of this site?” I ask.

“There is honey,” Alan replies, “You’re just too square to use it.”

“Gee thanks.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Alan replies. “That square and lost look of yours is adorable.”

I sip my coffee and wait while Alan checks his email. I don’t know if it’s politically correct to think that gay men are more promiscuous than their heterosexual counterparts – but Alan is that stereotype incarnate, Maybe it’s always been that way. I remember walking through Greenwich Village when I was a young college student back in the 1980’s. A pay phone on Houston Street rang and I, being eighteen, innocent, very drunk, picked it up. The male voice at the other end of the line told me I was very attractive and that I should hustle my “cute ass” up to his apartment, pronto. I politely declined, but handed the phone to one of my companions who was gay. A few words were exchanged and my friend disappeared for two hours. Back then it was phone. Now we have the Internet. What a crazy world we live in. But in the intervening twenty-two years I’ve come to a conclusion. Gay men probably do have more sex than straight men. And that fact occasionally pisses straight men off. Or am I being stereotypical again? Who the fuck knows.

“It’s on,” Alan says giddily. “We’re meeting at eight.”

“Cool.”

“I have such a weakness for Asian men.”

“What was the term you told me about guys who like Asian men?” I ask.

“Rice queen,” Alan replies. “And I am most certainly one of those.”

“Whatever works for you amigo.”

“Damn straight.”

Alan and I spend an hour going through the ins and outs of my new Mac. Contrary to all the slick commercials Apple puts out, acquiring such a device doesn’t make you any younger or more hip. As if to prove my point, the quartet of cute college girls sitting at the table next to us haven’t so much as glanced at me. I wouldn’t go out with any of them mind you, but it’s nice to be noticed. Maybe it’s because Alan’s sitting next to me. He is a bit flamboyant. Or maybe it is the Mac.

Oh boy.

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Makes The Perfect Gift. But Remember, I’m Biased!

November 28th, 2008 by Waiter

 

Happy Black Friday everyone! Hope you all had a joyous Thanksgiving!

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Explosion of the New Gilded Age

November 26th, 2008 by Waiter

It’s a wet and dreary Monday afternoon and I’m driving to the hospital where I work part time. The dark clouds hanging low in the sky have soaked up what’s left of the day’s sunlight, causing the headlights from passing cars to generate diffuse halos in the misting rain. As I drive down the street I spy a Dunkin’ Donuts on my left. I’m working the evening shift and my bloodstream’s crying out for coffee My internist told me to cut back on the stuff after I got diagnosed with gastritis. I pull into the doughnut shop’s parking lot anyway. I have to be awake and alert for several hours. My doctor doesn’t.

I walk into the shop and wait in line behind the truck drivers, landscapers, soccer moms, and teenagers ordering their late afternoon caffeine fix. Two young men are working behind the counter. As I listen to them chat with the customers, I detect an Arab accent. I’m not surprised. Many of the Dunkin’ Donut franchises near me are owned by Arabs. As I wait in line I idly wonder what part of the Middle East these young men are from. Egypt? Jordan? Saudi Arabia? Who knows? A linguist might be able discern a regional accent, but I can’t. I smile inwardly as I remember an Arab woman I dated for a few months. She introduced me to Arab cuisine and gave me a glimpse into a culture that’s always been a mystery to me. We smoked that hookah more than a few times.

“Sir?” the young man behind the counter says, interrupting my reverie. “What can I get you, sir?”

“A medium coffee, please,” I reply. “One cream. One sugar.”

“One milk and one sugar?” the young man repeats.

“One cream and sugar.”

“Okay, sir.”

As the young man prepares my coffee I look at the tip jar on the counter. The clear plastic box holds a lonely dollar and a couple of orphaned dimes. Normally I just put the change from my coffee purchases into tip jars like these, but put I detect an opportunity here. I am writing a book about tipping after all.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I ask the counter man as he hands me my coffee.

“What about?” he asks, looking suspiciously at me.

I glance behind me. No one’s waiting on line. “I’m a writer,” I explain. “And I’m writing a book about tipping.”

“Really?” the young man says. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“No really,” I say. “I’m for real. I wrote a book about waiters. I was on Oprah and everything.”

“Oprah, wow!”

I’ve learned that telling people I was on Oprah gets their attention.

“Can I ask you about your tip jar?” I ask.

“Sure,” the counter man says. “Hey Amjad,” he says, waving to his coworker. “Come here.”

“What?” the other worker asks.

“This guy’s a writer and he wants to talk about our tip jar.”

Amjad looks me over. “What do you want to know?”

“How much do you make a day from the tip jar?” I ask.

“Rami and I split what’s in the jar,” Amjad says. “We walk out of here with fourteen to fifteen dollars  every day.”

“Is that a normal amount?”

“No,” Rami says. “We used to take home twenty dollars a shift.”

“So the tips have gone down?”

“Ever since things got bad,” Amjad says. “People are tipping less.”

“They still buying the same stuff?” I ask. “Coffee? Doughnuts? Sandwiches?”

“People aren’t cutting back on what they buy, mister,” Rami says. “They’re cutting back on what they tip.”

“I don’t want to ask what you make an hour,” I say carefully.  “But do you count on what you get from the tip jar? Is it a big source of income?”

“You better believe it mister.” Amjad says. “Rami and I work six days a week. We both used to take home almost five hundred bucks a month from the tip jar.”

“Wow,” I reply. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Since things got bad,” Rami says. “We’re taking home, what Amjad? One-fifty less a month?”

“That’s about right.”

“That’s a hit,” I admit. “Would you say the tips you receive are essential?”

“The boss here pays us what he pays us,” Rami says. “But we need the tip money.”

“One more question,” I say.

“What?” Rami says.

“Does the owner ever skim from the jar?”

“He’s our uncle,” Amjad says smiling. “He better not.”

“That’s all I need to know,” I say, dropping a ten spot into the tip jar. “Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Rami says.

I walk back to my car and drive to the hospital. The hospital sits on the top of a large hill. The employee parking lot, of course, is at the bottom of that hill. I slip into an empty slot, kill the engine, grab my umbrella, and begin the ascent to the main entrance. As I walk, I think about what those young men at the Dunkin’ Donuts told me. I hear about Americans tightening their belts on television everyday. Many Americans are in genuine financial distress, but let’s face it, some aren’t. I fear that some people are using the current economic situation as excuse to rationalize their new found parsimoniousness regarding tipping. If you can afford to go out to eat, order soy mocha lattes, or order a box of pastries, you can afford to leave a tip. If you can’t, you shouldn’t be buying those things.

I know some people are angry that there are tip jars in places like Dunkin’ Donuts and Starbucks. But as Amjad and Rami illustrate, they count on that money to help make ends meet. Don’t get angry at them or the tip jars. They’re a symptom, not a problem. Many tipped workers aren’t paid a living wage which causes the American public to basically subsidize the labor costs of both small businesses and multi-billion dollar corporations alike.  Annoying isn’t it? Over the four plus years I’ve written this blog tipping is a hot topic. The normal retort I get from the uber red meat capitalist commenters when I discuss this stuff is “You don’t like my tip? You don’t like the money you make? Get another job you bum!”

But now the tables have turned. Many of those “uber capitalists” are now working for (or used to)  enfeebled companies that are going hat in hand to the American taxpayer for over a trillion dollars worth of taxpayer (and Chinese) backed bailout funds. Yet again, the American public is subsidizing  the foolishness of private and corporate greed. Even as the average American worker suffers, CEO corporate beggars arrogantly fly into Washington on private jets. Food pantries are running out of canned goods, families won’t have a turkey on the table this Thanksgiving, and these morons are still clinging to the trappings of excessive pay and greed. Maybe those bums need to get another job.

I don’t know squat about economics. Maybe the bailouts are a good idea. Maybe we do need to rescue the auto industry. I hope the outgoing and incoming Presidential administrations can work things out. Things are bad. And they’ll get worse before they get better. But don’t stiff a tipped worker their pay. That’s not the way to go. They need to contribute to the economy too

I walk into the hospital’s main entrance. Clusters of people are sitting in the waiting room. Many of faces that look up at me as I walk in are Latino, African-American, or Arab. Most of them probably don’t have health insurance. I’m sure those bankrupt idiots flying on Gulfstream Vs have health insurance. Assholes.

I walk down to my unit. There are some people there who will never be well no matter what the economy does or who the President is. They say change is coming. It had better come fast. As they posture and debate in Washington, we’re being hit with shrapnel from the explosion of the New Gilded Age.

You’d better duck.

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Kellner Rant!

November 25th, 2008 by Waiter

I’m very happy to announce that Droemer Knaur will be publishing the German edition of Waiter Rant!
Many thanks to Sebastian Ritscher at MohrBooks for making it happen! Danke everybody!

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