System Failure Frenzy

There is one word to describe last night at Summit: MAYHEM. The Summit is a big place. It’s the largest rotating restaurant in the world, so obviously it must be grandly spacious. It can fit up to 300 patrons easily. This makes coordinating dinner reservations a rather complicated task, and so the Summit relies on a reservation computer program to organize EVERYTHING, from dinner reservations to private functions and VIP events. When a person calls to make a lunch or dinner booking we enter their information in the program including the date and time, the number of people in the party, and any additional notes that are important; for example, if someone has a food allergies or is celebrating a birthday. This program also contains an electronic floor plan of the restaurant which numbers the tables, and each day a manager allocates the reservations for that evening to a specific table. Thus, when I come in to host I am able to see the name, time and location of each and every person who is coming to dine at the restaurant so that when they arrive I can effortlessly escort them to their proper place. Minus a few errors here and there, this system allows for a smooth operation of the restaurant floor.

Well last night Michael (the celebrity chef owner) came in around 7:00 pm to meet his friends who were coming to dine at the restaurant. At some point he went to the hostess stand (where one of the reservation computers is located) to view the reservations and see how things were going. Then he decided to click the “system restore” button. Why he felt the urge to do this is and will remain unclear, but in doing so he caused the whole computer system to shut down and reboot. This is at 7:00pm on a Saturday evening, mind you. That is the dining time; 7:00 pm equals dining rush hour. The clock strikes 7:00 and the five elevators surrounding me turn into flood gates that open to unleash a rush of ritzy customers to my feet demanding, “Sit me so I can enjoy my feast, hostess!”. And that is precisely what I do, normally. But the system reboot eliminated the reservation program I desperately rely on to do my job, leaving me helpless and in the complete dark. We have a second computer located at the main desk which I thought would be my saving grace, but that too had crashed (figures). I skirted back to the computer at the hostess stand which had restarted. Relieved, I attempted to log back in only to find that the mouse wasn’t working! So here I was with guests standing before me waiting to be seated and absolutely no clue which tables to seat them at. By this point the managers had rushed to the scene to handle the crisis. They said that I should just explain to the guests that we were experiencing a temporary glitch with the computers and ask them to take a seat and wait patiently while we fixed it. That was fine and dandy for the first few customers, but as the minutes passed our entrance began to look more like a doctor’s waiting room than an upscale, fine-dining establishment. Who knew how long it was going to take to fix the computers, and the hungry masses weren’t going to wait patiently for very long. 

Things got chaotic quickly and we were forced to go into operation improvise, sitting guests where we could and crossing our fingers that eventually everyone would get seated and be content. For me it was overwhelming because not only did I have a herd of customers approaching me to be seated, but I also had my three managers instructing me to take different actions. This is the downside to having three managers, especially in a rotating restaurant because they are circling all over the place shouting different orders without convening with each other first. So I would have one manager asking me to seat a group of people at one table, and then another manager asking “Who sat that table there?” and me stuttering my response because I think that maybe I misunderstood the first manager’s instructions and royally messed up when in actually I had done exactly what I was told. I felt it was a tad unjust, I mean the owner just took down our reservation system leading to this catastrophe and I somehow get slapped on the wrist for trying to amend it by seating a table. Oye ve. Usually it’s nice being at the bottom of the food chain because I just turn to management to handle the messy situations, but in this instance it was a drawback because I had no authority to make on-the-spot decisions to try and ameliorate the situation. I’m surprised I didn’t sprout a bunch of pimples on my face during those two hours last night, because my anxiety was at a maximum. Eventually we restored the computer system, sat all of our customers and returned back to normal, but holy-moly, talk about a worst case scenario! That was most certainly it for me in the hostess department. From now on we will be printing out hard-copies of the reservations list, just in case. 

Let's Go Fly A Kite

This past Sunday was the Festival of the Winds at Bondi Beach, which is a kite festival. The description online said: The skies will come alive with hundreds of kites of all shapes and sizes from local and international kite makers and flyers. This I could not miss. And so I rang Sara and Aubrey to come with me to the festival, which online said ran from 11:00 am until 4:00 pm. We arrived to Bondi Beach a quarter to four, just in the nick of time to see the last of the kites flying high in the sky before they all slowly drifted back down to the beach below. I imagine we didn't see the skys "alive" with kites, but it was still cool to see the ones we did. 

Proof we were indeed at the Festival of the Winds at Bondi Beach

Yay we made it!

Kites galore

The end of the Festival of the Winds

Family of kite turtles

When I Say Honeycomb, You Think ______

Cereal! Duh, because Honeycomb is a popular, highly advertised and quite tasty cereal that lines the supermarket shelves in the USA. But this evening at work, when my manager inquired if I liked Honeycomb and I asked, "You mean the cereal?", she looked at me as if I had ten, mold-infested heads. She then turned to the other manager laughing and said, "She asked if it was cereal (chuckle, chuckle)." Um hello! That's because it is a cereal. I asked defensively, "You don't have Honeycomb cereal here?" Maricia (the third of my three managers, you've already met Frank and Tim) replied, "No, I don't think so. It's a cookie-candy type of thing" as she dropped a box of "honeycombs" on the desk. "You can have them if you like." Well I tried this Australian honeycomb, and it was just awful. It was hard, crunchy and did taste like honey, but impossible to chew. The instant I bit down on it, the whole thing got cemented to my teeth. Even with the help of my fingers, I couldn't hinge the honeycomb off my molars. Who on earth would want to eat that? And of course, Frank was in the office and wouldn't let me leave to go back into the restaurant until I had finished chewing. But like I said, that was a nearly impossible task and so I awkwardly stood in the office for what felt like an eternity trying with all my might to get this chunk of honeycomb chewed and swallowed.  Frank must think I'm a little off. I can just imagine the raised eyebrows he gave me as I stood there stationary, still chomping like a cow minutes after he had given his orders. I have a newfound appreciation for our Honeycomb. While certainly not the most nutritious breakfast option (cerealfacts.org) (yes, that is a plug for Rudd Center work!), I will take a bowl of honeycombs cereal drenched with milk over this horrid "stuff" any day.

I was in such disbelief that my managers had never heard of Honeycomb cereal, that I went and asked my fellow employees if they knew what it was. Their answer was "no." I then recalled someone telling me that they didn't have Graham crackers here in Australia, an essential ingredient for making s'mores. So I asked them, "Do you know what s'mores are?" They shook their heads no. "You don't?" I replied shocked. "Do you have Graham crackers here?" Again they shook their heads no. I couldn't believe it. I tried to explain to them the exhilarating wonderfulness derived from biting into a gooey, warm marshmallow that has melted the Hershey's chocolate sandwiched between two crisp Graham crackers. But no description, no matter how vivid, does the actual experience justice. These people don't know what they are missing, and I am at a loss to show them due to the nonexistence of Graham crackers in Australia. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that I've seen any Hershey's chocolate here either. But that can easily be replaced with Cadbury chocolate. I fear it may be much harder to find an adequate substitute for Graham crackers. But I shall try!

Onto other work related news, tonight I experienced my first thunderstorm in Sydney (a natural reaction to Mr. Thunder From Down Under being in town, I'm sure). I have never witnessed the wrath and awe of thunder and lighting 165 meters up in the air before. It was a little bit cool, and a lot bit eerie. I wish I had a way to capture it and share it with you all. Instead, I will urge you all to make some s'mores and think of me. Chow.

Your Daily Dose of Laughter 2

Apparently you will find more mullets at the Sydney Fish Market than you will find in Adelaide. And the owners of the fish market are proud of it! I have noticed a high volume of mullets in Australia (and rat tails, you know the tiny braid of hair flowing down the base of a ones neck), but I was unaware that Adelaide was the mullet hub. I wasn't planning on venturing to Adelaide while here in AU. Thank goodness this bus advertising informed me that I can simply go to the local Sydney Fish Market to find the man of my dreams with a mullet. Score!

Thunder From Down Under

This story is just too funny not to tell. You will never guess who I spent part of my Friday evening with. I won’t even make you guess, because you would never get it. Ready? Drum roll please… a cast member of the show Thunder From Down Under! Ring a bell? Sound faintly familiar? Some of you may be saying “yes” and laughing already, and some of you may be saying “no, Sarah, please fill me in.” Why of course. Thunder From Down Under is a Las Vegas show like Chippendales except the performers are Australian. The Las Vegas tourism website ensures that this “internationally acclaimed male review is sizzling!” If you’re still scratching your head in confusion, then the show’s poster below should give you a good clue as to what I’m talking about. And if not, well then you’re out of luck because I’m not divulging anymore than that. This is a family blog; I’ve got to keep things PG around here.

According to the Excalibur (the hotel where the show takes place) website: “You’ll laugh! You’ll stare! You may even faint! These guys will give you something to write home about!” Indeed they have, because I am writing home via my blog to tell you all that I met and hung out with one of the Thunder From Down Under blokes (third from the right). And while I did not stare (he was fully clothed) nor faint, I was and still am laughing. I think it’s hilarious that an evening out in Sydney resulted in a random encounter with none other than Mr. Thunder From Down Under (who I will from now on refer to as Thunder). Actually, I am realizing as I write this that what I really find most humorous is the name. Say it: Thunder From Down Under. It makes me laugh every time.

So how did we (I was with Sara and Aubrey) meet Thunder you ask? The answer is as random and bizarre, I assure you. Upon finishing work on Friday evening, I joined Sara and Aubrey at a local pub. It was just a normal night of striking up conversations with other pub-goers when Aubrey began talking to a gentleman who had the urge to dance. We will refer to this man as Patrick, because the way he danced reminded me of Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Patrick swept Aubrey off her feet (literally, and she is a tall girl) and began twirling her around the dance floor. They were like John Travolta and Olivia-Newton John in Grease. I’m talking about a full-on swing fest full of spins, dips, lifts and slides. Patrick was dancing with so much gusto and energy that at some point, perhaps when sliding across the floor on his knees, his pants SPLIT right down the center seam over his buttocks. Fortunately for us, he was wearing undergarments. Unfortunately for him, these undergarments were exposed. As a result, security informed him that he would have to exit the establishment and take his dance moves elsewhere. Patrick and his mates invited us along with them to their next destination where split pants were welcome, and we just couldn’t refuse.

Patrick and his split pants while twirling Aubrey

We all piled into cabs to relocate. Sara, Aubrey and I ended up in a cab with one of Patrick’s friends whom I will call Viggo because he looked like Viggo Mortensen. Viggo asked if it was alright with us if, on the way, we stopped to pick up one of his friends who was in town for a short while. We said of course. Long story short, this friend ended up being Thunder. Apparently, Thunder From Down Under was on hiatus and he was back in Sydney to perform in Manpower (I kid you not). We spent the short remainder of the evening with Viggo, Thunder, Patrick (and his ripped pants) and their aussie friends, including one girl who thought she was Jewel and spent the rest night singing for us as if she were performing for a sold-out crowd of millions. Just add it to the list of oddities we encountered that evening. I had to fight with all my might not to burst out laughing each time I observed the characters surrounding me. They were a friendly and entertaining bunch of Aussies to say the least, all of whom I think would make for a great sitcom cast (get on that Dennis Jacobs). 

If you’re ever passing through Vegas and decide to experience some Thunder From Down Under, think of me! 

Martini Manicures

Thursday evening I experienced another “first” down under, except this time in the world of bar and pub experiences. My mate Sara has a book which contains a bunch of free and cheap activities to do in Sydney. This book has become our tourist bible. One activity that caught my eye was called “Martinis and Manicures” -- two of my favorite things! It claimed that there was a bar in Sydney that gave free manicures to any patron who purchased a martini. It sounded too good to be true. However, one click of the Google search button confirmed that this remarkable freebie did exist at the Chamberlain Hotel (hotel, remember, is aussie lingo for bar). Their website advertised: Purchase a martini and receive a free manicure on Thursdays after 5:00 pm. Thursday just happened to be my only evening off this week. I looked at my nails. They had seen better days. Nail polish was one of the many items discarded from my suitcase in an effort to “cut-down” my packing. I looked at Sara and Aubrey. They looked at their nails and back at me. A simultaneous group nod confirmed my hearts greatest desire (at that moment) - we were going to “Martini Manicures” on Thursday.

Thursday evening happened to be a rainy one in Sydney, perfect for sitting inside, unwinding with a cocktail and getting pampered (for free! That’s what makes this all so exciting). Based on the hotel’s website, I had envisioned walking into a classy establishment that had a manicure room separate from the bar where we would take our cocktails with us to get our nails done. Thus, I was slightly surprised when we walked through the doors to find ourselves standing inside just another pub, full of male patrons downing pints of beer and backpackers chowing-down on platters of fish ‘n chips. I approached the bar tender to inquire about where the martinis and manicures event was taking place. She pointed behind us, “Right there. You can buy your drink here and then get a number there.” I looked behind me. Literally arms distance away was a woman setting up here manicure space on a table in the center of the bar! I did a double take. This  was it? Disappointment began to settle in, but I hadn’t waited with anticipation all week to not get a manicure, so I ordered a glass of wine (turns out you didn’t have to order a martini, any drink would do) retrieved my number and took a seat at a nearby table with the girls. We were sitting in a bar full of patrons (who were un-phased by what was going on, mind you) waiting to get a manicure at a station set up smack-dab in the middle of the bar. The absurdity of the whole situation began to set in right about now, as the aroma of nail polish remover, beer and chips mingled in my nostrils. I began to laugh. Only in Australia would this exist, and only in Australia would people think it normal. There is absolutely no way that the states would allow something of this nature due to sanitation laws. Just imagine the possible scenarios. For example, you’re sitting with your glass of beer and someone’s nail clipping soars through the air and lands in your drink. So foul!

But I put my sanitation worries behind me and got that manicure. And let me tell you, it was one of the more enjoyable manicures I’ve had.  I was expecting her to slap some paint on my nails an send me on my way, but she actually performed a complete, legitimate manicure on my hands including an incredibly relaxing hand massage. And normally when you get a manicure you sit there bored with nothing to do but stare at walls. But here, in the bar, there was an unending amount of people-watching to be done. So I was quite content. And my nails look fabulous. And all I had to do was purchase a $7.00 glass of wine. Thank you Sydney for being so bizarrely cool.

What's On This Week: Football, Booze...Oh And Free Manicures @ 5PM