Old Lady with the Dog

I understand you've been coming to visit us for years and years and years and maybe even more years. From the looks of it your dog has been visiting with you all these years. Unfortunately I feel like your dog might not be making many more visits. His poor stiff legs point outwards when they should bend and remain under his body and he constantly lets out a bark every few seconds. I'm not sure he can hear so per chance he doesn't know he's doing it. Occasionally he wanders away, dangerously close to our stairs that lead to the cellar but similar to his awareness of his barking, I'm not even sure you're aware of his strays. Once he even made his way into the restaurant where I had to "shoo" him away and again, not sure you noticed.

Often times you come in on a Friday evening, our busiest, and just have a seat at "your table" no matter how many people are sitting there. Tonight, you let your dog sit under the table next to you and bark at the customers. Not everyone is comfortable with this. When you came in during our staff party, despite the notice on the front door that we were closed and the subtle fact there were NO other customers in the pub you and Fido made your selves comfortable. It was akward. We had to ask you to leave.

Every time you come in you order a portion of mini sausages by waving your hands from your table, not even bothering getting up. Some mini sausages you eat, others you feed the dog, and even others you place into a single napkin and into your bag. What happens to these sausages?

I also learned the other day that you drive yourself and mut to the pub. Considering your unawareness I desperately hope you do not drive far to reach us. Around the corner would be best but still unsafe.

Perhaps pubs and mini sausages aren't best for your and your pooch?

Will we see you and "man's best friend" next week? Guess we'll see.

Back to school

Ok, so I haven't exactly enrolled in medical school or anything but I started my once a week, 3 week Intermediate Wine and Spirit Education Trust course. This will hopefully provide me with more knowledge and confidence in being able to speak about and sell the wines we sell at work and of course to be able to carry on conversations with my friends, who are all wine buffs. So like a good girl on her first day of school I laid out my outfit, set several alarms, and went to bed early.

Unfortunately my first few alarms went perfectly into my dream that I was supposed to bring out a big bowl of food every time the buzzer went, clearly showing that works is creeping into every part of my life. When I finally finished getting the food out I opened my eyes to see that my dream had crept 30 minutes into my morning and I HAD to make the 8:15am train from Battersea Park Station. I quickly got ready but only had 15 minutes to make it to my train and with a still throbbing broken toe it isn't easy to walk quickly across the entire park.

I started anyways and was making pretty good time until I ran into two kindly older gentlemen with plastic bags filled with bread. To some people this might have been a, 'Look at those guys, how sweet,' kind of moment but for me it was an, 'Oh crap, they're about to feed the damn birds!' And before I could even finish my thought or add any more expletives an enormous long legged huge wing spanned bird lept over the fence right in front of me. I've since done a bit of research and I have learned that the monster that stood in front of me was a grey heron

and as I swung around to escape it the kindly old men had already opened their bags and I was suddenly surrounded by birds. If you've met me before you might know my complete and utter aversion to the beasts. I lunged at the first bird and he headed back over the low fence towards the river. I thought I'd finally escaped but when I looked behind me I'd suddenly become the PIed Piper of Battersea Park birds. Apparently my friend had gone to the other smaller water fowl and somehow "kindly old men with bag full of bread' translated into 'limping 29 year old female with bag full of bread.' Completely forgetting about my train and even my course I just started running, much to kindly old men's amusement.

Unfortunately even running didn't help the fact that I missed my train, not a good first day of school. As the next train was coming in 30 minutes and I had to be there in 45 I got on the bus, went to the tube, waited 4 trains before I could get on, got lost at London Bridge, and walked into my class 15 minutes late. Fortunately I quickly caught up, got my tasting glasses, and we started with Chardonnay!

Dear Jackie and date

"Good night, thanks, bye, YOU ASSFACE" Obviously that last part was muttered under my breath (hesitantly not to their face) once the door was firmly shut behind (unfortunately not on) their rears.

Jackie booked a table for 2 at 8:30pm this evening. They came into the pub and not uncommonly began their evening at the bar with a beer and a bottle of wine. They came to me asking if they could have their dinner in the pub rather than coming through to the restaurant because they felt that the pub had a better vibe. We provide a lunch menu in both the restaurant and pub but in the evenings there is a menu of bar snacks for our pub goers as usually the pub is packed with drinkers with the odd snack to line their bellies. Jackie and her date really did not like the idea of coming through but did as they wanted to have some dinner. Immediately I could tell they had their backs up about having to do as I said and would be a challenge.

As the challenge begins they aren't too difficult but their tone is very negative and condecending. I take their order and as dictated by the order of service bring them some bread and butter, in roll form (sourdough chosen). I turn my back to attend to another table and when I happen to glance at table 1 I see Jackie harshly tapping, some might say banging, the top of her roll with her knife. Most people might know that bread in roll form does have a harder shell with a nice soft doughy bit inside, not Jackie. She eventually breaks the apparently tough exterior and butters her warm roll and enjoys.

Jackie and date do not order any starters but impatiently begins their wait for the pork belly and lamb shoulder, two of the longer dishes to cook, oh dear. When I do bring them their dishes, placed with smiles, kind words, and encouragement to let me know if they need anything else, I retreat from the table as Jackie lifted her plate and inspected it with what can only be described as a slight snarl on her face. Note to readers, the pork belly is one of the most delicious looking dishes there are. I leave it, assuming they are trying to get a rise out of me, stop by to ask if they need anything half way through, and return to clear clean plates.

Again, once the plates are cleared, table is wiped, salt and pepper removed, it is dictated by the order of service that dessert menus are placed. I must make a note that this is a Sunday evening and both the restaurant and bar close at 10:30pm and we all dream of finishing early after a long weekend of late nights and early mornings. After going to table 1 a couple of times to ask their dessert order it became clear they were not going to allow this to happen. I eventually left them alone, waiting for the sign that they were ready to order. By this point all other tables had paid and left and the chefs had changed. At 10:15 pm the bell was rung in the bar to recognize the impending closure of the bar at 10:30 and if any last drinks were wanted to order now.

I went to table 1 to make sure they were aware of this point and to kindly offer them one last drink. "Sorry to interrupt, I just want to see if you'd like a final glass of wine or drink from the bar before it closes." Jackie's date asked what time the bar closes to which I responded, "10:30." Then with one raised eyebrow he asked, "Is my watch 15 minutes fast?" Smiling I said, "The bar closes at 10:30 but we allow 15 minutes for last orders so if you'd like another drink we need to order it now."

Still sitting with the dessert and wine menu, the only table in the restaurant, chefs perched just out of sight, Jackie's date asks if we were going to kick him out at 10:35 if he orders another drink. I kindly tell him that we are happy to serve him anything he likes and he won't need to leave the restaurant until he is finished. After asking several questions about the different wines by the glass he orders another BOTTLE of Pinot Noir and a cheese board. Without hesitating and always with a smile I swiftly put the order through, made sure to provide them with details of each cheese they were eating, and left them alone with their cheese and bottle of wine.

As I did the cashing up, the pub was emptied, all glasses removed from the shelves as they do on Sunday night, and the restaurant broken down, Jackie and date were half way through their bottle of wine. I printed their bill, gave it to them with 4 home made marshmallows, and a message to take their time. They paid eventually, I finished the cashing up, the waitress changed, all other staff left, and as I poured myself a small glass of wine, Jackie and her date asked for their coats and headed to the door with no words of thanks or recognition of the fact they had remained a further hour and a quarter after we had closed. Hence the ASSFACE.

The high road can be a lonely place but I'll keep on the trail.

From Receptionist to Manager

"So you were a receptionist before this and suddenly got your big break and now you're the general manager?" Ahh, why I felt the need to even attempt to defend myself. Yes, right before starting at the Admiral Codrington I was in fact a receptionist. A receptionist in a 1 Michelin Starred restaurant in London that has been around for 12 years and averaged around 200 covers or more a day. I was the receptionist, table planner, and sometimes most importantly, the only native English speaker in the building. I helped respond to emails, complaint letters, checked menus, and even assisted in the occasional CV writing and text messaging. "Katerina, how do you spell lingerie?" Later on, "Katerina, how do you spell naughty?" The rest of the content of that message was a mystery but I can only hope it was for his wife!

My first restaurant job was at Bibendum, around the corner from the Cod and also where Fred and I met, then to the White Swan, BORING!!

Anyways, I shall never defend myself and my past to anyone but only look forward and work on the job at hand. And that job is huge! I'm nervous, excited, terrified, happy, completely in over my head, and am so ready to show them that a former receptionist can do this bigger and better than those who came before.

I keep finding myself thinking and saying comments that were once said to me and drove me INSANE! "Can you do something about your hair?" "You need to wipe the tables in the direction of the grains in the wood." "Hold the champagne by the stem, not the glass." Things that I have held against these former managers for years and years. Things that I have found myself wanting to pass on now that I'm the manager. I have had some very successful managers from some very successful businesses and I just hope that their hard work and determination have rubbed off on me and over time I'll be looked at as the general manager rather than a former receptionist.

The Aftermath

Well, after my last blog I guess I should give an update. I wasn't exactly nervous or scared to tell my mother that I had a Vespa, I guess it had just been so long that I hadn't told her about it, an omission of the truth rather than a lie, that it was just a confession that had to happen. It would have come out somehow, I had even slipped up before by saying I had driven into central London but played it off by turning "driving" into taking the bus because at least someone was driving, but I don't think she noticed at all. I didn't tell her simply because I know she worries but I was thinking the other day about telling her when I remembered that both my mother and my father had their pilot licenses when they were my age, IN FACT, they had a plane! That suddenly made my little 125 Vespa that I've never been over 55mph on pretty insignificant. I can't even drive on the motorways or carry passengers yet.

Anyways, after my "blog-fession" my mother called me and we chatted about it to which she said said she didn't even know what a Vespa was and also that she wanted to drive it next time she came to London, so there ya go.

Confession

Mother Dearest,

This confession is mainly for you as many others already know and the rest probably just don't care. It's something I've been meaning to tell you about but haven't for your own good but it will come out (like the tattoo did) and I'd rather you hear it from me, well, my blog. It's not that I thought you would disapprove because let's face it, I'm a big girl now, and it's definately not anything bad or illegal, I'm a good girl, it was more for the fact I know how you worry about me but it is a big part of my life now and something that I will probably blog, twitter, and facebook about in the future so the time is here.

(Deep breath)

As you already know, Fred got a Vespa early last year and last August my darling husband surprised me with my own matching silver Vespa. It came with the bike, a box for the back, a bike jacket with protector plates and thermal liner, bike gloves with protected fingers and knuckles, a neck warmer for when it's cold, and a balaclava for when it's really really really cold. I had to apply for a British Learners license and take a course to get my license to drive the bike and I was the only one in the class who passed!! I have had it inspected and have insurance as well and best of all my £100 a month on travel passes is now reduced to less than £20 a month on gas, I don't pay the £8 congestion charge to drive in London, and I don't pay for parking. I drive "greenly" so the gas goes further and means less emissions into the environment.

It's a great way to get around, a relief from London's public transport, and I absolutely LOVE it. Fred and I can drive around together and run errands that would have taken us over 2 hours in the past in 30 minutes, it's brilliant. So there you go, it's out there now and if you ever want to worry or fret remember YOUR "alternative" form of transportation when you were my age and just be glad I'm on the ground and not in the air!!

ILY,
K

That's not my name...

Not only is that one of my favorite TingTing songs it's also the story of my life. I am constantly being called Caroline, specifically, it seems, when working in the restaurant industry. These indiviudals have been told that my name is Katherine and that I am from North Carolina which seems to equal Caroline in their eyes. I wasn't sure if it was because most of the restaurant industry in London consists of non-native English speaking people or because the people in the industry are constantly changing so they just don't bother to really learn anyone's name correctly.

It started almost 4 years ago working at Ransome's Dock where Antony started calling me Caroline. I contributed this mistake to the fact that the man drank Sambuca from 11:30 in the morning, often times starting before we had eaten staff lunch and would then take the rest of the bottle to bed with him at night, if that was me I'd probably forget my own name much less the name of some random bartender.

This takes me to my new job working in an Italian restaurant where there seems to be two extremes of my name. Not only do I get called Caroline on occasion, which I just accept and respond to, there are a few individuals on staff who refer to all 4 receptionists as Katerina (said with a thick Italian accent), even the head receptionist, Olga, who has worked there for 6 years. I only recently discovered this as I assumed whenever they said Katerina they were speaking to me but the french receptionist named Aurelia would also respond telling me, "Oh, they call all of us Katerina" and it seems as in my Caroline they've given up on correcting the mistake.

Fred seems to think that this is almost a sign of respect that in 3 months of working there it's my name they have choosen to refer to all the females with. And in the mean time I am taking this opportunity to teach the Italians more about North Carolina. Recently I saw that Miss North Carolina won the Miss America pagent which went into my curriculum and also explaining the difference between North and South Carolina. I also refered to the Miss America pagent again by showing them the infamous response by Miss South Carolina in which she turned an answer that should have showcased the inability for Americans to locate the US on a world map into how we should help countries such as Asia, South Africa, and "the Iraq" with their education, seems maybe the Iraq could offer her a few pointers.

Anyways, Katherine Duke Forehand Smith is my name but you can call me what you like, except for Kathy.