The test siren that sounds at noon is probably a wakeup call for more restaurant people than just my Valentine. I woke up at quarter 'til ten and got up to write; he got up when his usual Tuesday alarm clock rang: the noon siren. I wonder how many San Franciscan restaurant people use the noon siren as their alarm clock? If you are one, let The Dish know. I'll post results next week.
After eschewing the drinking scene on Friday night, I got totally hammered on Saturday in typical hypocritical fashion. It was a good, busy night in the restaurant, and the hostess did his best to seat me with two full turns like he always does. Unfortunately, the second turn (one table of 15 that took up my whole section) was a bunch of rude kids that ordered French fries, a couple of entrees, and barely anything to drink. Their entire bill was less than that of a high-spendin' party one-third their size.
It was this waste of two hours of my time that drove me to drink martinis after work. It was a good crowd out, not the usual boozer servers (among which I will readily count myself) but a couple of people who I don't usually hang out with. Why is it so much easier to bond with your coworkers over a drink? I don't know if other servers are as conflicted as I am over the amount that they drink after their shifts (I rarely drink at all on my nights off), but most restaurant people I know have a love/hate relationship with the bar that more often than not stays on the love side.