Journal 2 The following account is based around my 7 months of working in an upscale restaurant and the events I witnessed. 

Fictional Satire:

Being a restaurant critic is probably the best job anyone could ask for.  I dine at the most fine restaurants and buy every single item on the menu, my waiters have to like me since my tab is huge...even though I don't have to pay for any of it, and I get to sit alone: people watching and eavesdropping into what society has become these days. 

First off, the staff of a restaurant is always filled with several different characters.  Many times they are aspiring actors or entertainers, and their level makes perfect sense to why they are still waiting tables in a restaurant to pay the bills.  The managers are always looking to please even if you are the most ridiculous pain in their side, and the hostesses always amaze me.  It's quite the stunt that they can see where they’re going with their eyes up towards the ceiling, smelling an obviously horrible odor that only they seem to smell the entire time they are working.  One time in particular, I remember sitting across from an innocent enough looking table of a mom and daughter.  The two of them were just sitting there, minding their own business, when one of the hosts comes up, slams down a menu, firmly says "good luuuck," and then promptly strutted to the back of the restaurant and slaps one of the bus-boys in the face.  From what I got out of my Barbie waitress was that the bus boy had been dating both the daughter at the table and the hostess, and that the hostess was offended the boy would have dared to bring the legitimate women into the restaurant when she working.  Needless to say I gave the restaurant a 5 star review.

But when the staff disappoints, the customer is always reliable.  People have become over compulsive about their food in America.  McDonalds is not the only problem.  What has become acceptable in a fine restaurant is beyond control.  No wonder the staffs are always crazy. One night two quite large urban women came in to this beautiful, classy steak house.  Their prime concern was two large mugs of boiling hot water.  Their waitress obliged the request grudgingly, and came to find that they were using the hot water to sterilize the utensils.  Since when is that good etiquette?  If you are about to pay 25 dollars for an entrée, why must you insist on purposely sterilizing the utensils in a most ineffective way?  Then their family showed up with 5 babies.  If there is not something to bring into a restaurant I am about to critique, its babies.  Parents allow their children to spit, throw and grind their crayons into anything they can put their hands on.  I have witnessed children puking all over the seats, in which the parent’s natural response was hit and run:  leave a 100 dollar bill and get out of there before they are embarrassed.  The chaos of a restaurant only escalates with the slips, falls and collisions of frazzled waiters and waitresses and whining guests.  One man once followed his server into the back of the kitchen screaming about an added gratuity of 18% on his bill.  Is money that big of an issue, or did the man just want to say where his food was made?  I don’t know.  Either way the great managing staff promptly sent the waitress home for the night with a job well done.  That restaurant also received top honors.  But my absolute favorite is the weasel bartenders with a hidden agenda.  Stealing their liquor and taking it out to their cars in sippy cups and taking money off the pretty girl’s bill and adding it to the chump sitting next to her.   You never want a man like that mixing your drink.  Especicially when full grown 300 pound men fall over onto the bar floor and have to call for an ambulance and a super-sized stretcher.  And yet, people applaud their funny, sly, crude humor and tip him well!  Since when has society accepted such vulgarity?    

The restaurant business is one of complete entertainment.  Stereotypes and rule breaking musk the air of the fine dining experience, as costumers abuse their power to boss some poor artist or college kid around for the night and get away from their own monotonous dreary lives.  This is why I am critique, I see all and report only what on my opinion, and you thought I was going to speak about some stuffy nonsense like, “The art of fine dining is one of quintessential need for the cultural renaissance of today.”    ¶ 6:57 PM 0 Comments

  Journal 1 Compare and Contrast the childhood of Huckleberry to your own childhood, especially taking into account freedom.

Huckleberry Finn and I have severly diverse childhoods.  At 13, Huck does not even have a place to call home.  He lives with the Widow or his father, and in either place he isn't free or treated the way he deserves.  The Widow represents Huck's inclusion with society.  While Huck lives with her he learns how to read and write a little, and how to be a civilized man.  While Huck first complains at the the difference in life from his backwoods upbringing, he grows fond of it for a while.  This part of Huck's childhood is much like my own.  We are both free to go to school, free to read and write and play with friends.  We both had a bed to sleep in and a caretaker that wants us to succeed.  However, Mark Twain makes a point that practicing freedom of speech in civilized society is impossible.  Huck has religion shoved down his throat, and told by the Widow how to behave, what to say, and more importantly--what not to say.  I have always been taught to be a polite person, just as the Widow tried to teach Huck, but found that sometimes what I need to say in a situation is not always polite.  My extended family has the same problem.  Sometimes, when trying to be polite, they end up offending each other because no one is truly speaking their mind out of courtesy for the other person. 

After this part of Huck's childhood, Pap comes back into Huck's life. Pap is a man that is completely opposite from my childhood.  He does not want his childhood to exceed him in life, and wants to force his backwoods way of life on Huck.  He is described as a sickly, pale, dying man.  By Pap's description, Twain is saying that his way of life is dying.  Pap drags Huck to his log cabin in the middle of the woods, far away from society, and forbids him from attending school or reading books.  When Pap leaves for town, he locks Huck in his cabin like a prisoner.  Although Huck has escaped from society, he still does not have freedom.  Pap is dangerous, jealous and racist.  He treats Huck like a slave.  This is when Huck decides to run away from that life and create his own.  He fakes his own death and runs off to an island, where he teams up with a runaway slave. Though the last part of Huck's childhood as a runaway is nothing like my own, it is where he has the most freedom.  No influences are acting on his decisions, and he even befriends a runaway slave--completely against the rules of society.  Huck must escape all boundaries to be free, including his own life.  Throughout the story I predict that Twain will compare Huck's actions in society with those of his free self.  As for my own childhood, though I never plan to run away from society--this story makes me think of just how free I am to make my own decisions.  ¶ 6:23 AM 0 Comments