Out of Town

Real cowboys eat at Paizano’s.

This particular young man is sweet on one of our front girls. He stopped in to pick up lunch, spurs and all.

He may be great on the ranch, but he’ll never make it as a pizza delivery driver:

You can almost hear the toppings sliding to the back of the box. YIKES! I hollered at him to straighten out the pies, and he just laughed.

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I took Kris to the food show in Idaho a few days ago. We stayed at the Hampton Suites (which I highly recommend to anyone staying in Boise) and went to dinner at Chandlers Steakhouse.

They were having a winemaker’s dinner, and the place was packed!

Kris was a little intimidated by the menu, so I ordered for both of us.

“What’s Esss Car Go?” she asked, after I ordered our appetizer.

“It’s deliciousness,” I replied.

We inhaled our snails, sopping up every drop of the garlicky butter with crunchy bread. The look on her face was priceless when I told her what she was eating.

We split a gorgeous spinach salad with a warm goat cheesecake, then had our entrees: seared ahi tuna and a Kobe flat iron steak. Everything was amazing. Everything.

Our server brought Kris a birthday dessert of Grand Marnier chocolate souffle, and we were barely had any room to eat half of it.

The food show the next day was crowded and loud. We munched on a variety of food items, and filled our bags with tons of samples. We made our rounds twice, then bolted for some quick shopping at nearby retail stores.

Namely the restaurant supply store & Costco.

And at Costco, I was sold.

I love being sold something. The pitch, the bullet-point list of “benefits”, the presentation.

And this lady at Costco? She had me at zucchini.

As we were walking by, she announced into her little headseat that she was adding ZUCCHINI into her blender to make a berry sorbet. I stopped in my tracks.

Sure enough, a few seconds later she doled out the samples, and it was delicious! Even the little kids standing around were devouring it. She quickly cleaned out the blender and a minute later, was feeding us samples of chicken tortilla soup. Then, the “Green Drink” which one of the moms standing nearby called the “Shrek Drink”.

This:

(I took this photo just moments ago – BREAKFAST!)

The color is of algae. The flavor is unbelievable!

Fresh spinach, a tablespoon of 100% white grape juice concentrate, a half a lime with it’s rind still on, and ice. I’m telling you, it’s really quite good.

So I’m now the proud owner of a Vita-Mix 5200. The recipe book is so cool – I can’t wait to make gazpacho, soups, smoothies, oh! and margaritas… with whole limes!

Swine Flu?

We had a regular customer come in yesterday who works at the hospital. He said that they have two separate waiting rooms now for “Sick” or “Injured” patients.

Those with influenza symptoms are tested for the Swine Flu. In a two-day period, 77 young adults were tested; 74 came back positive for the Swine Flu.

Another regular customer is a middle-school teacher. She came in yesterday and told me that over 30% of her class was out sick with the flu.

I’m terrified of getting sick, and just as scared that someone at our restaurant will get sick just before we leave on vacation (in 9 days!).

I’ve put a can of sanitizer in the delivery bag, and have instructed everyone to soap up after taking a delivery and handling cash. I’m washing my hands every time I walk away from the front counter after talking to someone. I have sanitizing gels in my purse, car, and on my desk.

Chuck Norris (one of our kitchen crew who is going with us on vacation) said that he hopes that it doesn’t rain while we’re in Hawaii. I told him that I would rather it rain every single day than to have one of us get sick with Swine Flu before we go.

Counting down….

9 days.

Here’s a Tip…. Get LOST!

The day before High School started, a young man came in to Paizano’s and ordered a slice of pizza. He sat down, and looked rather sullen while he slowly ate his meal.

I pretended to wipe down a table next to him, just so I could strike up a conversation.

He admitted that he was nervous about starting school; he said that people generally picked on him, and that he was sure that would be the case with his new high school as well.

He had bleached blonde, crispy hair, and spoke with a seemingly-purposeful lisp. He wore flamboyant clothing and walked with a runway style that Tyra Banks would be proud of. He definitely was not a ranch kid. 

We spoke for a while about bullies, and I invited him to come in after his first day at school; that I wanted to hear all about it.

He obliged, and came in the next afternoon. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, he said. He had met some other kids that he got along with, and he was excited to go back the next day.

Cool.

So for the past few weeks he’s been popping in to say hi, not buying anything, but just walking around the dining room and waving at me every so often from the parking lot.

Today, however, he was banned forever from entering our restaurant.

He stole tips out of the jar.

The jar is there, to the left of the photo. It says “Employee 401-K” on the label, and the tips are shared by all of the crew at the end of the day (divided amongst everyone based on how many hours they’ve worked).

So, lispy blonde boy came in this morning and spooked one of our front gals. When I arrived, she mentioned it and I blew it off, telling her that he was harmless.

Later in the afternoon, he came back and stood at the counter with a menu, then using it as a shield to block the view of the customers, he purposefully reached into the tip jar and shoved a wad of cash into his front pocket.

One of our customers watched it happen, and her husband (who is in law enforcement) confronted him. The kid bolted out the front door.

Seriously.

Now, of course, we’re all replaying every instance that he’s been in just hanging out, and realizing that those were the same days that tips were much lower than usual.

I’m pretty angry with this kid. It’s a small enough town that I’m sure I’ll see him again, yet, I could also go to the High School and confront him with one of the counselors.

It’s a few dollars, sure, but it really upset our staff who work very hard to earn their tips.

What to do….

Pizza Art

A customer recently left this on the table for us:

How cool is that?

Mid-week Mayhem

Yesterday (Tuesday) was my day off… and I almost

(almost)

didn’t take off my PJs for the entire day. I’ve always wanted to “work from home” in my boxer shorts and fuzzy slippers. Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough.

Backtracking…. so on Monday night, I was allowed to leave work an hour early, so I immediately went to El Erradero (great Mexican food) for take-out. I ended up having a few too many of their incredibly potent margaritas with some friends, and got home a tad late.

Suffice to say that I was plenty thankful that I had the next day off.

I worked on some graphic design stuff for advertisements, did the schedule (my favorite thing ever <sarcasm>), and watched three episodes of Hells Kitchen. I was having the best day EVER, right?

So six o’clock rolls around and I’m doing laundry, feeling domestic, life is great… and I hear my phone beep with a text message.

Whitey had sent me this:

Basically, I had two missed calls and that photo (of the line swamped with tickets) sent to my cell phone while I was busy being a domestic goddess, and each of them were frantic.

HELP!

I was not a lovely sight when I showed up at the restaurant with frizzy hair, no makeup, shorts and one of Whitey’s T-shirts…. but they didn’t care. Ovens/Dish guy had called in sick, and they had one want for me:

Just make pizza.

Roll, toss, stretch, sauce, cheese, top, slide (into the oven).

Repeat.

It was mayhem. We were quoting three hour deliveries, and still we were hearing the ticket printer beat on.

Thankful? Yes. Stressed? Yes.

We got through it, and the true rush only lasted an hour or so, but man — I swear I have two new forehead wrinkles because of it.

So today? Rainy and gloomy outside. I woke up thinking it’ll be slow.

Nope. Just as busy, if not moreso. Lunch was steady… but dinner?

Oh dinner. How do I love thee?

Ovens/Dish guy is still sick, so it was Whitey and I plus the new guy (Wonderbread) and our veteran front gal, Kristen. Kris had called her backup front gal and told her not to come in; that she could handle a Wednesday night by herself.

That, my friends, is what I like to call Jinxing something.

By the end of the night, I was covered in flour and utterly exhausted, having done about 30 more covers than the night before.

Kristen had done a tremendous job in working a dining room of 50 people without one customer complaint; in fact, even receiving 20% tips in our QSR that usually receives 5%. She takes such pride in a job well-done, regardless of the job at hand.

She’ll even work the dish hole if it means helping out her co-workers:

No, you can’t steal her. I’ve adopted her… not legally, but she thinks so.

We leave for vacation in less than two weeks. Kristen doesn’t know how to swim, so we have to rent her some floaties or a life jacket. I figure if she can keep her head above water on a hectic night at Paizano’s, she’ll have no problem in the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean.

13 days.

You so wild

I’ve always loved that song….

Wild Ting, you make my heart sing, you make EVERY ting, groovy!

Happy Boss’

Bosses’

Boss’s

Happy Day of the Boss to you!

Sign of the Times

I couldn’t help but pick this up at a local gift shop:

This sign should be a life mantra. Be NICE or LEAVE!

Have a nice day!

Two Years

Our restaurant has been open for two years as of today.

Two years.

Of course, it took a lot longer than that to actually get the place open. Four separate SBA loans to take over a destroyed building and turn it into a functioning business.

It seems like just a few months ago, yet, like eons ago at the same time. We’ve lived at Paizano’s every day, all day, for Two Years.

Working a 14-hour day is normal. Whitey says that Thursdays are his “day off” because he only works for 6 hours.

We’ve put every ounce of energy and sanity into this place.

Sometimes I question if we should be open so much – 11am until 10pm is crazy, right? We’d have so much more of a life if we were only open for lunch, or if we were closed on Sundays like most restaurants in Baker City.

Yet, we keep on keepin’ on.

Here’s to another two years, and then two years after that. I just hope that I’m not completely grey-haired and wrinkled by then.

PS: Have I mentioned lately how much I love my husband?

Foul-mouthed Attorney

I’ve had it with stupid people.

Last night was the creme de la creme of idiocy, and yes, I used profanity when speaking with a customer on the phone. Of course, I was only repeating his own words… just to be certain that I understood his adjectives correctly.

We were busy.

And when I say busy, we were really busy. Everything was going pretty smoothly, though, and the kitchen was communicating well. Whitey and I were side by side on the make line, with Chuck Norris on ovens and WonderBread doing deliveries and stocking the line as needed.

I noticed our Front Gal on the phone looking at me with her panic-stricken doe eyes, and heard her say (as per our policy when anyone is upset or disappointed in anything), “What can I do to make it better?”

I was tossing a pie, and motioned to her that I would talk to the person for her. Too late, she dropped her mouth open and pulled the phone away from her ear, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Would you like to talk to my manager?” she said into the mouthpiece while looking at me, visibly upset.

I dropped the dough onto a paddle and walked towards the front, taking the phone from her.

“Hello,” I said, “It seems there’s a problem. Give me a moment to understand what’s going on.”

I put the phone down towards my leg, covering the mouthpiece.

“He’s cussing me out about getting a wrong pizza,” Front Gal said. “He just won’t stop cursing… he asked me if I was the one who took his order and to repeat what it was without looking it up. It was a long time ago! We’ve had so many orders since then, and he just keeps yelling and cursing at me.”

My momma-bear hackles went up.

I took the phone and introduced myself, then asked again what we could do to make it better. I offered to re-make his pizza and personally deliver it, to which he still was agitated about.

Three-quarters with Canadian bacon and pineapple, 1/4 without pineapple add olives or something like that. It didn’t matter at this point. He wouldn’t stop freaking out on the phone, and kept telling me what F-ups we were.

I lost it.

“So, you’re thinking it’s a good idea to call and cuss out a teenage girl? That’s going to fix things?” I demanded. “To tell her what a F-up she is? When she goes home and cries herself to sleep and her dad asks her what’s wrong, should she give him YOUR name?”

This guy, I’ll tell ya, he’s a piece of work.

He’s also a local attorney.

He was quiet on the phone for a moment, then said “I’m just tense. I just, I’ll, I…. I’m going to hang up now.”

I immediately noted the phone number on our Caller ID, looked up his order (which, by the way, was made exactly per his instructions), and checked his history in our computer. Aha! It wasn’t the first time we’ve had issues with him. Maybe someone needs some anger management classes?

I drafted a letter, which will be sent via Certified Mail on Monday morning:

 

If he had handled himself in a decent manner, he’d be overwhelmed with our generosity in handling his disappointment. Instead, this grown man is officially the first person to be 86′d from our restaurant.

When I showed Front Gal this letter, she hugged me and thanked me for standing up for her.

Hey, it’s one thing to be upset, it’s another to cuss out another human being. If we had punched him in the face or slept with his spouse, now THAT’S a reason to freak out.

But olives? Really?

Get a grip.

Great Beer, Small Town

Congratulations are in order AGAIN for our local brewpub, Barley Brown’s.

Brewery	Beer	State	Medals	Category
Barley Brown’s Brew Pub	Shredders Wheat	OR	Silver	American-Style Wheat Beer
Barley Brown’s Brew Pub	Tumble Off Pale Ale	OR	Bronze	American Style Pale Ale

Today at the Great American Brew Festival in Denver, Colorado, our hometown brewpub scored big!

In the American Style Pale Ale competition, there were 108 entries and Tumble Off (named after a local ski run at Anthony Lakes) won the Bronze. This is big category, and to score so high is a huge honor. Big props, guys!

I’ll have to tip one back tonight in celebration of your win!

Just catching up for mom’s sake

Tuesday. My day off.

I got up at 7 a.m. and began the tedious process of doing the schedule (my least favorite thing behind payroll). Went to the restaurant at 10 a.m. and just got home now, around 5 p.m. Some day off, eh? Oh well – I caught up on a three-inch high pile of paperwork and paid all of the bills for the week. I can’t complain about that.

We’ve got three fairly new employees to replace Calhoun, Kim & the gal that didn’t show up for her shift (for the second time in three weeks). I forgot to mention that on the blog. Nice enough girl; she’d worked with us for almost a year - but two times in less than a month? A week before that, she asked another gal to open for her while she searched for her gold and diamond hoop earring that she’d lost the night before while hunting (or fishing or something…) and showed up late looking disheveled with makeup that had been cried off and her hair in a frazzled pony tail. She had even gone to our local jeweler to see how much it would be to replace the one earring – about half of her regular paycheck.

I ended up getting her a new pair of gold and diamond hoop earrings and was going to give them to her that day that she decided to sleep in. ARGH! So frustrating. When she finally returned Whitey and my repeated phone calls, I told her “just don’t come in – we’ll talk tomorrow” as I had already had to cancel my morning plans at the last minute to cover for her. She didn’t listen, showed up as I’m frantically vacuuming, and I let loose. I felt bad about it later, but really, it’s a JOB for goodness sake. Show up! She said that she should probably just look for another job, and honestly, things have been running much more smoothly since then. Again, really nice girl, and I still think highly of her as a person, just not too stoked on her work ethic. Hence, I still gave her the earrings with her final paycheck. I hope she liked them. And I hope she finds another job that’s not so fast-paced.

———————————-

This past weekend, downtown Baker City blocked off Main Street for their annual Fall Festival. I was working all weekend, so I wasn’t able to check out any of the festivities. One of our front gals went, and she said that there were vendors with food samples that you could taste for a “token” that you bought from nearby businesses.

Whitey and I were the only ones working, and we took a couple of deliveries for businesses located in the blocked-off area.

I really don’t like taking deliveries, so I took over on the make line.

When Whitey came back (complete with the above photo taken from his phone while on one of the deliveries), he tells the story:

He has to park two blocks away from the business because of the street closure. He’s lugs the pizza bag and his delivery bag (with plates, napkins, peppers, parm, money bag, etc.) and arrives at the delivery location, and remember, he’s covered in flour from making dough all morning – even his bistro Crocs are white with flour. The gal looks around for her purse, then while digging out her checkbook she asks, “So are people supposed to tip you?”

He says, “Well, I actually run the place so all of the tips go to our crew that work there.”

She wrote the check out for the exact amount.

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This past Friday, I had two different teachers from our our local high school ask for pizzas that looked like this:

(camera-phone photo)

I thought it was pretty cool that they were cheering on the football team (the Bulldogs) by buying them pizzas.

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One of our front gals turned 21-years-old this weekend. We hurried through closing the restaurant and set up a back table to open presents at.

And then the debutant hit the town!

We started at Barley’s for sustenance. Mmmmmm, fries.

They were doing last call, so we decided to head to the Main Event.

Unfortunately, they had a band playing and it was so loud we couldn’t even yell over the music. Instead, we went down the street to the Stockman’s, where we could sing karaoke!

Not very glamorous cocktails for her first time out, but hey…

she seemed to be enjoying herself.

Even Whitey was having a good time. I can’t remember the last time we went out. Wait. Yes I can. New Year’s Eve with the Flynns.

Some friends showed up.

…and karaoke was ON! I have the voice of an angel.

Here’s the best shot, though – check out the signs on the wall:

No Drinks Aloud On Dance Floor.

Come Join With Us.

As a side note, the electrical outlets for the karaoke set up had me terrified:

That just doesn’t look right.

Anyway, Whitey and I had to work the next day, so we left the kids and went home.

———————–

And in other news, we’re planning a week off next month. After almost 2 years of 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. 7-days a week, we’re ready for a vacation. Not just ready — we NEED a vacation. I’ve been petitioning to close on Sundays, but then again, that’s 52-days a year. That’s quite a vacation in itself.

One week. Gone.

And we’re taking the crew with us. Not the newbies, of course. That’ll be earned next year.

Where are we going?

Mmmm. Owwww. Eeeeee. Hah. Why. Eeeeeeee.

Ah. Low. Ha!

Karma meets The Golden Rule, and a promise from me to you

Years ago, Whitey and I were desperate to get out of Bend. We were traveling all over the PacNW and researching towns to relocate to.

After visiting Sandpoint, Idaho (gorgeous, but waaaaaay expensive) we decided to check out Baker City. Back in his early college days, Whitey had stopped off the freeway in Baker City to get gas, and he remembered seeing snow-capped mountains. He made a mental note to check it out in the future. The future was thirteen years later…..

We drove over on a Saturday afternoon, stopping at the Painted Hills outside of John Day, and taking photos at every rest stop. We were 100% tourists.

We rolled into town at about 4 o’clock, not knowing that Baker City literally closed for business at five p.m. We unpacked our bags and walked downtown. Nothing was open. Nada.

Except for the bars. We had a drink at the local sports bar, the Main Event, and then at the Stockman’s (which was for sale at the time for $220K – building and business). We were turned away at all of the retail stores by CLOSED signs, and I wondered how the locals found time to shop their fellow merchants.

We had dinner that night at Barley Brown’s, and chatted with a few people while sitting in the bar. Our overall impression of Baker City was that it was a close-knit, sleepy town, and we pondered whether or not our vision of opening a restaurant would be supported by the community.

A few weeks later, we visited Baker City again, and decided to stay at the Best Western instead of at the Geiser downtown. It was less expensive, and has an outdoor pool, making it feel more like a vacation. We encountered the same closures downtown, and decided to head back to the hotel to have an evening swim and dinner on the outdoor patio.

Our server that night ended up being one of the nicest people we’d met in Baker City. She inquired as to why we were in Baker City, and we ended up telling her that we were on the fence about moving from Bend and opening a restaurant. She was so excited, and shared a ton of great advice on locations and her thoughts on our concept. I was in awe of her enthusiasm.

The next visit to Baker City, we stayed at the same hotel, and when we went to have drinks on the patio, she remembered us. She wanted to hear all about what was going on with our move, and shared even more ideas about opening a new restaurant in Baker. Her positive attitude and local insight was a driving force in finalizing our plans to open a pizza restaurant (versus the initial idea of a more formal Italian eatery).

Her name was Saundra.

funny

Can we all agree that Kanye West is a pompous jerk?

Even our president called him a “jackass” – the sound bite is all over the internet, and it just cracks me up hearing him say it.

So when a friend sent me a link to THIS, I just had to share it with you.

Too funny.

I’m a Dog person…

We’re watching Wally for MIL this week. We’ve decided to keep him.

Goofy-looking dog, eh?

He learns the rules of the house fairly quickly whenever he stays for any length of time.

Max & Barkley play with him, snuggle, even wrestle together. It’s pretty funny to watch a tiny shi-tzu and a giant rottweiler wrestling.

They fight over the tennis balls. Wally isn’t intimidated.

Now THAT’S a funny photo!

I am definitely a Dog Person. I love these boys. Even after a 15-hour day, they could care less, and act as if they haven’t seen me in weeks. Licks, love, snuggles…. I can’t imagine life without them.

just a rant

Click on the photo to read the story…

—————————————————————————————

Seriously? He was a 340-pound 25-year-old. Saying that he didn’t have a medical problem BEFORE the freezer door hit him in the back is preposterous. He’s been out of work for TWO YEARS since then, and is “trying to quit smoking” before getting the weight-loss surgery that his former employers are going to have to pay for. Sounds like he’s really concerned about his health. I’ve got a hundred dollars that says even if he gets the weight-loss surgery & the back surgery he’ll still never work again.

Grrrrrr……

New / Old hair

I had my hair chemically straightened, which pulled all of the color out of it. I then went back a month later to color it, and told her to just make it whatever my roots were.

To anyone Googling “should I straighten my hair?” the answer is NO!

My hair is very dry now, and brittle. I use the most intense conditioners on it, serums, potions, lotions, oils…. still, it’s fried.

And I’m officially no longer a redhead. I’m a brownhead.

This photo was taken soon after the cut. Here’s me this morning:

I just pull it back and call it good. It’s much shorter, but that doesn’t mean it’s easier (my original intention). I almost pulled a Britney Spears and shaved it off last week, but everyone I mentioned it to said that was a bad idea.

Whitey told me to just leave it alone for a year. By then, the curls will be in full bloom on the top of my head, and the straight hair will be hanging in the back like a crispy mullet.

Mmmmm. Crispy mullet. Sounds like a great fish entree.

Anyway…. enough about that. Go back to your original internet surfing.

More from last week

My mom called me last week on my birthday and announced that this is a magical year for me.

I’m turning 36, and three plus six equals nine.

I thought about that later while I scrubbed the make line. Yep. Pretty magical.

Anyway –

she also sent flowers from The Flower Box here in Baker City. Mom, they’re beautiful!

<3

I’ll keep them at work, since I am there more often than home, and that way more people can enjoy them.

I did deliveries on my birthday evening, giving everyone who ordered a delivery a free slice of cheesecake if they tipped. I didn’t announce it or anything – just waited to see if they tipped and would say “Hold On!” then bring one from the delivery van. Obviously I don’t keep any of the tips, but it felt good to share on my special day.

Because I was on deliveries, I had to leave Chuck Norris (not his real name, obviously) to run the kitchen with the new kid. Norris did a GREAT job. It feels good to know that there is another competent cook in the kitchen besides Whitey and I.

So in other news, I need to create a list of Things Not To Do After Ordering a Delivery. Maybe make up some fliers and post them around town.

Rule Number One: Keep your lights on.

I trolled up and down this one particular street that night, squinting furiously, trying to make out the addresses on the houses. I finally pulled over so that I could punch in the address on my phone (which has GPS) when I noticed that the house I had pulled up in front of was where my delivery was.

THIS house had ordered delivery:

Seriously?

I rang the doorbell, half expecting someone to jump me from the side of the house and rob me of the delivery cash.

I made a point to tell the guy who answered the door that I couldn’t find the house; sorry I was a little late, yo.

He told me that his girlfriend didn’t like the lights on when they were watching movies. Even a porch light? Needless to say, he didn’t get cheesecake.

09/09/09

Fall is definitely in the air.

The apples are falling from the trees outside my window, and rotting quickly. I hate the apples.

I’m putting the flannel sheets back on the bed, too, having never once used the air-conditioner that MIL had given us. Summer was here and gone in a flash.

Today is 09/09/09. I’ve heard that in China it’s a big deal.

Today is our Fantasy Football draft in Bend, and I’m going to miss it. We’re too understaffed, so Whitey is going to go without me. He offered for me to make the drive over, but honestly, he’s a better drafter. I’m the only gal on the league as well, and I think the boys will be very happy to see him vs. me when they pull out the cigars and whisky.

I’m 36-years-old today.

It seems like I’m still 26. Nah. Even 24… but certainly not 36. I’m going to have to start checking that new box on all of the demographic forms. You know the one I’m talking about. The one that old people check.

Well, this old lady is going to go and rake up some apples and then get to work. It’s going to be a long couple of days.

True Story

Front gal handed me the phone this afternoon, motioning that the lady on the other end was crazy.

I took the line and introduced myself, asking what the problem was.

“Yeah,” she said loudly, yelling over the kids screaming in the background, “my husband told me to call and tell you that you screwed up his order a few days ago.”

“A few days ago?” I asked.

“Yeah, like three days ago – SHUT UP! STOP HITTING YOUR SISTER! Sorry, the kids are fighting,” she replied.

“And you’re calling three days later because…?” I let my voice trail, allowing her to tell me what she was calling for.

“Because he told me to and I’m just doing as I was told.”

“Okay,” I said. “What did he want for you to accomplish by calling us three days later?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Alright, well, we take mistakes very seriously. What was the problem with the order?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

“Alright, was it burnt or an incorrect menu item?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

“Was it dine-in? Delivery? Take-out?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, again. “He speaks Spanish, so you guys probably just screwed up the order ’cause he don’t speak too good and you probably don’t have someone there who speaks Spanish.”

“Well,” I replied, “if he ordered in Spanish, I can pretty much guarantee you that we were unable to take the order in the first place. Unfortunately, no one here speaks a foreign language.”

“SHUT UP! JUST GO IN THE OTHER ROOM! God. Well, he was with a friend who speaks American so he probably ordered for him,” she replied.

“So you’re calling me three days later, and are unsure of what he ordered, how he received the order, or what was wrong with the order. Am I hearing you correctly?” I asked, incredulous to the situation at hand.

“Yeah.”

“And what exactly is it that you are trying to accomplish?” I asked.

“Well, can I just talk to a manager?” she replied, irritated with me.

“I’m the owner,” I replied.

“Oh. Well, normally when you call to complain about something, you get it remade or free next time,” she said.

Seriously. This is verbatim.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “We strive for perfection in our food and our service, so if something was wrong we’d certainly do our best to make it up to you. Tell you what – find out from your husband what day he was here, if it was take-out, dine-in or delivery, and approximately what time frame it was. That way I can look it up in the computer and find out what went wrong so that it doesn’t happen again, and then we can make it up to you.”

“You keep that stuff in the computer?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is tracked. I’d be able to pinpoint exactly what went wrong so that we won’t make the same mistake twice. But we’d need to know what he actually ordered in order to make it right.”

“Well I just don’t want to piss him off,” she replied. “I’ll ask him, but I don’t know if he’ll like it.”

“Alrighty,” I said. “But we can’t fix the problem if we don’t know what the problem was, right?”

“Yeah, alright. I guess I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t know. That’ll be four days later. I don’t know.”

“Okay, well I’m here every day, all day, so I’ll be here when you call,” I replied.

And this, my friends, is a true story.

Now Hiring

Why is Baker City trying to entice new businesses to relocate here?

Of course, we weren’t enticed, or approached, or even helped for that matter. Maybe the writing was on the wall, so to speak. /rant

We need a full-time kitchen cook / manager. The pay is way above-average for Oregon and the cost-of-living here is much lower than average. It’s a job that pays well, has a fun atmosphere, and really ridiculously fun and intelligent people to work with. We all jive well together; most even hang out during their off-time.

We’ve hunted high and low – I’ve even advertised in the nearby areas in the chance that someone might want to relocate to Baker.

Nada. Zip.

Whitey and I are working a combined 158 hours a week. Burn.Out. We’re exhausted every day.

So my question again – why is this small town spending money to lure new businesses here when the labor pool is so shallow? Every business owner that I come into contact with says the same thing: Good help is hard to find.

Why?

Isn’t unemployment at an all-time high?

One guy who applied was offered a full-time job. No, he replied… I can only work 19 hours a week. Why? Because he could still claim unemployment benefits with a part-time job.

Thanks, but no thanks. If that’s your mentality you certainly won’t fit in with our crew.

Grrrr. I’m just venting.

And it’s certainly not  a slam on our Economic Development team — they’re normal, hard-working people.

I just am frustrated that we’ve been open for just under two years, and have yet to hire a competent kitchen manager.

This is my story.