My job is fun. Today I worked from 9:50am to 10:55pm. I mopped the floor, turned on the lights, cut fruit and made vegetable plates. Then it's time to make fish sauce and spring rolls. I learned to work a real cash register and to speak Vietnamese - Well at least I learned that the Vietnamese word for parallel is 'Same-Same' (with a hand motion). I have also learned that it's really no big deal if you see a cockroach in the kitchen because the exterminators will be by next week anyway.
My usual boss is nice. He panics under pressure, but overall is calm. His boss yells at me a lot. She's 23 and doesn't enlighten about for what I'm being scolded. She yells at everybody, especially the kitchen crew which is not her department. I don't really care. I just nod and promptly say something to Rico or Benja in either Spanish or in gibberish in an effort to look like I care enough to get clarification without bothering her. They kindly play along by giving me a Spanish lesson in Spanish while pointing at dishes or something restaurantish. By her expression I think that she thinks this is a sign that she is effectively managing/training me. In return they get silent revenge, some sympathy and sometimes I slide them a spring roll or two. I get to buss tables (sometimes the dishes have money in them called tips) and get to deliver food to customers, which is like waiting tables except that the customers have already paid at the register and are waiting for their food. Good food, but slow when restaurant is busy. When it's slow the customers get antsy.
I get to clean the soda machine and watch chemicals fry food. Clean up, turn off lights, leave.
Oh! I forgot to mention - I have made it a game to convince as many customers as possible that the restaurant belongs to me. So far I'm up to about a dozen followers. It's really funny to overhear a customer complain about the food and then ask for me instead of the manager. I mean, why settle for a manager when you can talk to Tanner himself. If they were to get the manager, they would most likely be told to lump it. If they get me instead of the manager, though, then they get to hear me have a very heated (and loud) discussion with the kitchen manager who's name happens to be 'Uncle' (thank God).
I get along with Uncle just fine, but he is Vietnamese and a stickler for rules. He shouts at me in Vietnamese, which I don't understand except for the hand motions, and always ends by saying in English that the "customer order wrong food. Make pay for new dish!" I shout back while smiling pleasantly - as if I've just processed all that Vietnamese - "Uncle, this is outrageous, make new dish. I point out the many shameful failings of his kitchen crew as quickly as I can. The customers think I'm gently reproving my errant Uncle and Uncle can't actually understand anything I've said. The floor manager (my boss) doesn't want the stress of getting involved. Now, half of Uncle's kitchen crew speak mostly Spanish while the other half speak only Viet. Uncle speaks poor English and poorer Spanish. I assume he speaks pretty good Viet. Since he sees me conversing with the Spanish half of his crew in the morning, I don't think he's made up his mind weather I'm Mexican or English (we all look the same, you know). Anyway, when he gets worked up he starts shouting at me in Spanish so broken that I can actually understand it. I tell him in Spanish that he never listens to me and that he needs to give Rico and Benja raises. Rico and Benja try not to laugh. He doesn't understand any of this. My body language is neutral and I keep my hands still. So, he usually decides it's less work to make a new dish than to figure out how to explain things to me. Once in a while he calls the manger on duty over. But since things are stressful, they have a hard time not yelling. He gets the impression that the manager agrees with me, end of story. The affect is beautiful. Uncle doesn't know we had a fight. Managers are learning to not bother me and to give me all the hours I want. Customers actually get what they order and they even believe that I know what the heck I'm doing. I really have no clue what Bulgogi is supposed to look like, you know. But when I repeat what the customer says, it just sounds so realistic - "Hey! No mushroom for bulgogi! Wake up people! Escuchame jente! Sus trabajo esta muy importante! Esta cosa correcto esta tiempo pofavor. Same-Same. (w/ hand motion)." Some customers ask me if I'm the manager. I reply, "Won Kun is the manager on duty tonight." as though I'm trying not to interfere with the duties that Uncle, Rosie, and myself have determined that he should have. "Won Kun is one of the finest managers we've ever had at Rosie's Pho", I tell them. Lot's of fun.
By the time you read this, I'll have had an interview at Lowe's. I hope I can convince some contractors that I tutored the General Manager. If not, they might believe that I owned a restaurant construction company in Vietnam. This is gonna be good. But first we have to convince the people at Lowe's that I'm competent.
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