Guests at the prestigious Genoa City Athletic Club,
with its critically acclaimed restaurant and hotel,
might find themselves noticing something a little
unique about the way its dining room servers conduct
themselves. Customers are likely to see a server
sitting comfortably and chatting with friends or
family; coffee may be a little slow to be refilled
and plates might lag in delivery to the table.
This is not an accident, nor it it a sign that Gina
Roma is asleep at the wheel.
"It's a whole new philosophy called "Server-Centered
Service," explained the Lasagna Baroness of Genoa
City. "We feel that our servers are the most
emotionally healthy and fulfilled when they are
allowed to follow their instincts and provide
service according to their own internal sense of
urgency. This isn't about neglecting the customers -
it's about empowering our servers to make their own
decisions."
With increasing numbers of home-school parents
subscribing to the concept of "Child-Led Learning"
and "Unschooling", this comes not as a shock but as
an inevitability. The "Unschoolers" firmly believe
that a child need not adhere to a rigid curriculum
or parentally guided topics; rather, the
"Unschooled" children will naturally express an
eagerness to focus upon subjects which interest them
the most.
Roma claims she knows someone who knows someone who
parents this way, and that person's child is a
well-adjusted genius. "I read about it on the
Internet," said Miss Roma, "and Wikipedia wouldn't
lie to me."
Colleen Carlton appreciates this radical way of
managing the dining room. "It's absolutely
wonderful," enthused Miss Carlton as she picked her
nose with determination and then neglected to wash
her hands before approaching the kitchen to pick up
two plates of elegantly prepared food for Table
Seven - as her internal sense of prioritizing had
led her to do.
"I can, like, hang out with my best friend Lily, and
sit down to talk about the Jabot contest... I can
give my uncle a hug at the bar and hang with him...
if my elderly boyfriend comes in, I can let my
tables' food sit in the window and make out with him
if that's what my instinct is. It's entirely up to
me."
The cooks enjoy the freedom to follow their hearts
as well. "If the ticket says one medium-rare steak
and one wild mushroom strata," said the sous chef,
Hector Guillanez, as he busily prepared the club's
famous fois-gras stuffed truffle nuggets, "I ask
myself what I really feel like cooking, and that's
where my empowerment lies. If I feel like cooking a
steak, fine, I'll cook a steak. But it's not because
Table Fourteen is the boss of me. Gina, she gives me
permission to just be me, and to cook from the heart
in as honest a way as I can. That's good for my self
esteem. Makes me feel like a man."
Gina Roma hopes that this style of service will
become commonplace and that people will feel that
her dining room is just like home.
"Nobody in Genoa City knows how to boil water, let
alone cook," said Miss Roma, "and our profit margin
on takeout is insane. So I'm hoping that people will
feel like they're among family. Lazy, disappointing,
self-absorbed family, which is pretty much the norm
in Genoa City, except of course the average two-top
spends upwards of a hundred and twenty dollars to
eat here, so."
So far, there has been no formal effort to seek out
customer response to this exciting new attitude
toward service.
"Comment cards? Are you serious?" chuckled Colleen
Carlton. "It's either this place or the Jitter
Joint, and frankly, their muffins are kind of stale
and their sandwiches taste like ass."
What a
Wreck
by Brent Kellogg
December 14, 2007
Could someone help me? I was parking my car and
being such a glutz plowed into the rear of the car
in front of me. There's not much damage, in fact I'd
say it was just a ding. Whoever the owner is
probably won't notice. But since I'm a law abiding
citizen who doesn't have a rap sheet as long as, say
Daniel Romalotti, I left a note and made note of the
license number. Why? I just told told you! I take
responsibility for my actions. For all I know the
car belongs to someone very important because, well,
this place caters only to the rich and famous -
doesn't it? Cool your jets Jack, I'm getting to...
oh, sorry. Heard of Jack Abbott have you? Slimy
bastard, no? Did you smell
all that crap he spewed about having done more as a
freshman senator in all of six months than senior
senators have done in years? Good thing I don't work
for him, I'd be ashamed to show my face outside
Genoa City. You know, the mini-megalopolis in
Wisconsin. The one Victor Newman owns. Oh yes, Mr.
Newman is as great as they say. Don't tell anyone I
told you this, but I keep a picture of him in my
wallet. Wanna see? Okay, your loss. Why? I'll tell
you why.
The man inspires me. He's the only male with real
testicles. I got a feeling right now Victor is fixing
a certain paternity test, but that's another story.
Before chartering a jet to your fine islands last
night, I heard he's invited his estranged wife to
throw a Christmas party at their ranch. Ain't that
the dearest thing you ever did hear? The other day
he told Nikki not to show her ugly face around the
house when he's there, and the next day he's asking
her to throw a party. I tell you, this is one hell
of a guy. Not Victor you silly goose, me! I
chartered a plane. Don't I look rich? You don't
recognize the jeans and flannel shirt? Look at the
shirt label, Jack. Oh, sorry. See the name
Fenmore's? That's the best money can buy where I
come from. No, I'm not showing you the inside jeans
tag. Not right here anyway. You look to me like a
guy who would appreciate Fenmore's Little Shop of
Horrors. If you're ever in Genoa City, drop by and
tell Lauren I sent you. Yeah, that Fenmore. No
kidding? You were there for the grand opening? Did you get trapped in the rubble?
Didn't think so. Only folks from GC were so lucky.
Like I was saying, I dinged this car and... yes, I
know of him. How is it you do? In the men's room?
Yup, that's J.T. He was playing undercover PI more
than I thought. Don't mean to pry, but is he...?
Okay, okay. I understand you wouldn't want to talk
about it. That bad, eh? Need a magnifying glass did
you? Now about the car. Would you look this license
plate up on your computer?
What do you mean you don't keep a license plate
listing of your customers? What the hell kinda dump
you running here? I thought the name outside said
Hilton. Get me the manager. You're the manager?
Jesus! You ain't no Gina Roma, that's for sure.
Gina, Jack. She's only the manager of Genoa City's
Athletic Club bar and grill and five star hotel. Do
yourself a favor. Get Conrad to send you to Genoa
City so you can observe how a real hotel works. When
morons like me plow into cars in the parking lot we
fully expect that Gina will not only tell us who the
cars belongs to, she'll make sure they're in the
club when we're asking! Oh, don't give me that
privacy crap, you frigging un-American loser. No
wonder you wanna get to know J.T. better. I am so outta
here.