Well, I'm nothing if not consistent in my tardiness regarding this blog. Just noticed that the last time I posted was the end of December. At that time the Grand Canyon was in its Arctic tundra phase: Snow, ice, overcast skies, ice-cold winds whipping right through you. All the cold weather crap I've always striven to escape. Still, the months rolled over, the season changed and somehow I managed to survive the winter. Maybe that Midwestern hardiness got me through the tough times. Whatever, it seems that the GC has entered spring time mode, and not a moment too soon for Your Humble Narrator. Save for a last blast of snow and frigid temps a few weeks ago, winter is likely done. (Hopefully, this isn't famous last words concerning the cold weather.)
The GC has got spring fever; that is, we've been hit with a sudden influx of tourists thanks to spring break. After those winter months where the park was essentially deserted, it now bustles with people from all over the world. That means congestion: crowds everywhere and their kiddies running amok all over the damn place. It's really kind of a shock, almost like an invasion of our privacy; after all, we basically had the park to ourselves over the winter. Now we have to share it once more with these characters and put up with their crowds and noise and constantly asking us where the restrooms are? (I'm often tempted to answer, "Follow your gonads" to that last. Either that or suggest they go au naturale like the deer and elk and just do their biz in the woods) But of course we must tolerate them, because they not only bring their annoyances but also their cash.
YHN has been keeping busy over the past few months. Indeed, where many of my Xanterra brethren carp about the lack of hours during the slow season (anywhere from 5-10 hours a week is not uncommon; one guy got a paycheck totaling $20; it likely cost more to print the check) I've logged 30-35 hours per week and experienced a fairly minimal drop in pay. Much of this is due to my 'multi-tasking': In addition to working for the banquet/special events department, I also take advance dinner reservations and tackle hosting duties for the El Tovar dining room (which happens to be located in the fabled El Tovar Hotel, imagine that). Dinner reservations aren't bad since I wear street clothes; hosting duties require we wear the penguin suit: White tux shirt with bow tie and black pants. Remind me to post a pic sometime; people tell me I look like a maitre d'.
Even though banquets require a lot of physical labor, I prefer it to my other chores since the activities can vary. Sometimes I'm preparing room for various functions; other times I'm driving around like a delivery guy. Hell, I even deliver cakes around the park, usually only for corporate events -- they add gratuities in as well. The hosting duties can be interesting but I couldn't do it full time: Too much standing around. Plus, when they get busy -- as they are now -- the restaurant managers call me in to help the bussers prepare tables. I can do it, but he bussers can be a surly lot. They often view my assistance as an accusation that they aren't doing their job fast enough. But I'm diplomatic about their often-resentful attitudes: Fuck 'em. If you don't want me around, then do your goddamn job better.
Like all restaurants, the ET dining room assigns numbers to all their tables, and each are has a section number. It's incumbent upon the servers, bussers and hosts to know all these numbers and locations. In the beginning I was so turned around it's a wonder I didn't seat people on the roof. Nowadays YHN has a pretty good grasp of all these tables and sections. Even so, I can get turned around. Sometimes when I make a mistake, I simply blame the guest: "Oh, they should have gone to table 25? Well, they said they preferred table 61." (which is actually on the opposite side of the restaurant) The lead host, who actually orchestrates all the seating assignments, rarely takes issue. It's commonplace to take a guest halfway to their table before they complain for a different table.
You see, the ET dining room has 9 tables that are actually against windows that overlook the South Rim of the GC; these are the coveted view tables that everyone desires. Understandably, if people travel from around the world to eat at the ET dining room, they want the best view possible. Curiously, this attitude holds true at night as well. I say 'curiously' because at night you cannot see the canyon at all. All you can see is the reflection in the window of the restaurant. Yet, evening guests will still demand a view table when all they'll be able to see is their own reflection. Go figure.
Hosts will work either an early shift (6:30 am-2 pm) or late shift (4:30 pm-10 pm). Depending on the guest volume we can be cut loose earlier, which is often the case. I prefer mornings because the overall vibe is more laid back. Evening can get intense, due to all the dinner reservations creating a time crunch. (reservations aren't required for breakfast or lunch at ET) When someone arrives at 8 pm for their table and the guests from 7 pm are still lolling about, there's not much you can do but put that party @ 8 on a wait list -- which usually provokes impatience, annoyance and/or outright hostility. (They could always take my approach: Give the lollygaggers the bum's rush and toss 'em into the canyon. Bet people would finish their meals quicker then!)
One of the things I do like about my job is meeting so many people from all over the world. Recently we've had workers arrive from Ecuador, Thailand and the Philippines (the largest contingent). In the next few months the Europeans and Chinese will land upon our shores. A Filipina girl named L recently joined the host staff. While she's a bit sketchy on her duties, she's very nice, very cute -- and very young at a mere 19. Nevertheless, she and I are friendly and like to joke/flirt with each other. Indeed, YHN was getting some, shall we say, provocative thoughts about L after she complimented me: She said, "I think you must have many girls who like you. You are very nice looking." Ah, what a coup! I was feeling rather good about myself when she offered this follow up: "You are like my father."
It hit me like a spray of cold water on a pair of dogs humping. Ah, I guess it had to happen some day, a comment like that. Still, there might still be something salvageable here. I'm like her father? Maybe I'll adopt her.
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