wiscompton's guide to life

Sometime in September, you’ll be able to see me fail miserably at guessing the gender of some transvestites.  That’s right, friends!  It’s time for another Maury “Guess the Gender” EXTRAVAGANZA!

About a week ago, a few friends of mine came to visit me at work, and while they were there, they mentioned an interesting opportunity to appear on television.  A producer had contacted the Hasty Pudding looking for Ivy League undergrads to compete against each other, and given that we are the collegiate experts at cross-dressing, we seemed like a perfect fit.

Shockingly, there weren’t many Pudding members and alums in the NYC area interested in participating.  To me, everything about this opportunity sounded outstanding, and I quickly agreed.  Last Friday at 7:00am, Maury sent a Mercedes-Benz to pick up me and two of my classmates, and we began the first of two interesting days.

Day One was a failure.  The AC in the control room had broken, so filming had been canceled.  We got a nice trip to Stamford, and we got paid, but we didn’t get to see any transvestites.  Princeton and Yale were also in attendance, with the former going so far as to send a cheer section to sit in the audience.  It should be noted that both of these other schools sent a rather diverse group of people, while Harvard ended up with three incredibly white kids, which, as I type it, does not sound surprising at all.  Anyway, we dejectedly returned home, some of us worried that we wouldn’t be able to return on Monday for a second try.

Luckily, Monday came along, and two of us were traveling back to Stamford (in a Jaguar this time).  We arrived at the studio, and the producers were quick to point out the loud, functional AC.  After wandering around backstage for a while, we sat down for a quick McDonald’s breakfast in a makeup room.

We were shuffled into the audience holding room, where a TV was loudly blasting a previous paternity results show.

Only four students could make it out for the show this time (1 Princeton, 1 Yale, 2 Harvard), so the dynamic was a bit different.  Either way, we were ready to prove that our expensive educations also taught us real-world skills.  After a bit of waiting, some handlers came and took us to our spot in the audience.  We were told that we would have the best view of the girls and that this was the best place to sit so the cameras could capture our reactions.

Lights, camera, FAILURE!  I turned off my phone at this point so I could focus on guessing.  It didn’t work.  I’d rather not spoil any of the surprises, so I’ll just say that my guesses were frighteningly wrong.  The taping took 90 minutes with a few long breaks for costume changes, and then it was done.  They filmed a couple of promos, one of which mentions us, and after a quick photo op with Maury backstage, we were back on our way to NYC.  The episode airs sometime in September.

Sure we got paid, but it certainly wont cover the cost of the years of therapy I will require in order to feel confident going out at night.  I mean, I was so convinced a couple of them were girls…  Damn you, Maury!

Going to work tonight cost me $230.

Yes, I’m aware the title of this post says $170, but we’ll get to that.  Tonight was the worst night of my illustrious career as a server.  In a few short weeks, I’ve found that some people are awful and don’t understand how horrible of a job waiting tables really can be.  People are bossy, rude, and definitely don’t know how to tip.  I make $4.60 per hour running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room getting you fruit punch and bleu cheese, so the least you can do is leave a few dollars to get me up to minimum wage.  Here are a few facts about Brooklyn tippers:

1) I’ve been tipped 0% on more occasions than I’ve been tipped 20% or higher.

2) People seem to think $5 is an appropriate tip for a $60 tab (that’s 8.3%).

3) Other servers have been left $0 on bills as high as $120.

Tonight, I was doing quite well.  On Tuesday nights, traditional wings at Buffalo Wild Wings are 40¢ each, so people crowd the restaurant.  We had guests waiting more than an hour for a table, which is crazy, but it allows those of us who can turn tables quickly to do so.  Thus, I was making quite a bit of cash.

Then someone stole my cash envelope.

For those of you who don’t know, servers often carry every cent you give them until the end of the night when they check out.  For example, if the first guest I have pays in cash, I will keep that cash with me in an envelope, and then I pay for the meal at the end of the night.  I become the middleman between the customer and the restaurant.

Hypothetically, if you were to rob a server, the best time would be at or near the end of the night, as this is when he or she is carrying the most amount of cash.  This, my friends, is what happened to me.  I went to put a fresh tip into my cash envelope only to find that it had disappeared from my pocket.  Surveillance videos show me putting the envelope back in my pocket immediately before this moment, thus I didn’t simply leave it out for someone to take.

Nope.  Somebody stole every cent that I had collected.  All 20 tables of it.

Now, Buffalo Wild Wings has a policy about walk-outs that is very similar to the policy about having a cash envelope (or “bank”) stolen: the server is responsible for picking up the tab.  For example, if you “dine and dash”, the server is the one who pays for your food, not the restaurant.  A loss of $20-$50 can be devastating, but imagine losing an envelope containing $230 plus every tip you’ve made that night.  Tonight, the server was responsible for picking up the tab.

Luckily, there are still some decent people in the world.  A number of my co-workers pooled some money and paid $60 of my bill, which was incredibly nice and totally above and beyond anything they had to do.  I was (and still am) extremely thankful and grateful.

After all of this, I had to leave the restaurant at 2:00am, run to the ATM, withdraw $180 (as I could only withdraw in increments of $20), and return to pay my bill.  I can only find comfort in knowing that I will likely never experience a worse night than tonight.