So, it went a little something like this.

“We’re putting a big party in your section,” says Katie.

“Great!” (Imagine this said with a large amount of sarcasm). “How many?” I ask.

“Seven,” she replies. Just my luck, I’m one party member short of being able to add gratuity to the bill. Fabulous.

I take a good look at my fate. It’s one of those groups you just know isn’t going to tip you. I don’t like to see myself as a judgmental person. Working in this industry, however, has turned me cold. My once idealistic notions of a kind world have been tossed by ruthless and cheap people.

They sit down, lots of attitude on their faces. It’s three women and four children. Great. I love kids. Just kidding.

The women order cocktails and then ask me for every other drink in the world to feed their rugrats other than what is on the menu sitting in front of them.

“Fruit punch?”

“No, we have other juices…”

“Orange?”

“Yes, we have orange juice and…”

“NO!” she cuts me off. “Orange soda.”

I’m sorry, miss. I forgot my mind reader today. My bad.

We go on like this for about three minutes or so. My other tables are looking at me. They need me too, miss. Do you mind?

I smile. “Great! I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

The hostess looks at me with a don’t-kill-me look as I walk by. I shoot her back a look of contempt. I thought we were friends, Katie. I really did.

I bring back their drinks. “What can I get for you tonight?”

The table takes twice as much time to order their food. The bitter women inhale their cocktails as their little monsters argue with every dinner option thrown at them. The one woman fought with her child about the macaroni and cheese, for example. Her daughter insists. She knows better, but caves anyway, and, looking me straight in the eyes, says, “We’ll take the macaroni and cheese.” You’re going to need this as evidence to my plight as we move along.

I put in their orders and not even 15 minutes goes by before their food comes out. It’s perfect. All their annoying requests made. Well, almost. I forgot to 86 the one woman’s coleslaw. I agree it won’t kill her and ask them, with a smile I might add, “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Oh no,” the one woman looks at her son’s plate. “He really likes cheese on his broccoli.”

Damn, where is that mind reader when I really need it? I should have told her I didn’t have it with me so she would know to ASK ME FOR CHEESE ON HER BROCCOLI.

“Not a problem. I’ll be right back.”

“I want broccoli! I want broccoli!” the little girl with the macaroni and cheese tells me.

Her mother shoots her a look. “Could I get an order too? And, can you put some cheese on it?

Sure. I do, in fact, have all day.

I get them their new orders among countless other things they need and after a half hour, they’re done! I clean up the empty plates and glasses as they finish. When I clear the children’s dishes the one mother notices that her child didn’t eat her special order of broccoli or her much desired macaroni and cheese.

“Oh,” she says looking at me, “She didn’t eat that so you need to take that off the bill.”

Do I? Do I NEED to take that off the bill? Really?

I look at her, perplexed.

Now, it should be said, I’m always one to give away free stuff. For me, nothing makes people who have an unpleasant dining experience happier then free stuff. “Oh, I’m so sorry your food is taking so long. Can I offer you free desert?” They almost always agree and when they don’t, they’re usually so happy you gave them the option they let you know with the tip. I like to give people free stuff. It’s like sticking it to corporate America to me. It’s empowering.

Now, let’s get back to the story. I know not to argue with her so I go back to my manager. I practically yell at the poor guy who looks at me like I have a few strings loose. Actually, I do. I do have some strings loose. “Can I tell them to stick it and that they can’t get free food simply because they demand it? Can I tell them that if they hated it, that’s one thing, but it was hairless, hot, delicious, and exactly what YOU ordered. Not me. So, deal with it. Everyone else does! Can I say that?”

He says that’s not a good idea and voids the items off the bill.

I hand the check to the table and tell them we took care of it. I’ll take it when they’re ready.

The total of their bill was $60 or so. I knew $12 was appropriate, $10 was fine, and I’d be happy with $8. They ran me to death, were rude, and unbearable. It really is the least they can do. Plus, their kids left a mess of torn up napkins. So, at least pay me a cleaning fee.

Three dollars.

Three dollars.

One more time… Three dollars.

I need a new job.

The table I had along with this one left me $8 and their bill was only $27. It’s not me. It’s not me at all. I made great money that night. And then, reality set in. People can be cheap and ignorant. It’s not like they don’t know how to tip. It’s protocol. If you don't believe me, check out ehow.com, Google's go-to service for everything you need to know. In reference to their fifth tip on the website, I wasn't rude to them. I was almost too nice. If I did something, they should have said something. Otherwise, I can't think of anything wrong with their experience (part of it free) and the next time they come in, their new server will know they tip bad and what they choose to do about that is up to them. Happy dining!

Things have been a little rough for me lately. I’m fighting with members of my family, I just broke up with my boyfriend, I’m getting less back in tax refunds than I originally thought, and my money situation is growing more and more grim by the week.

Sometimes I go into work and make so much money, everyone seems to be tipping me well and I go home with $100 or more in my pocket after only a few hours of work. Other days, like in the past few weekends, I go home with $60 or $70 in my pocket and I want to cry. It’s seems like I’m getting one 10 or 15 percent tip after another. Twenty percent people! I’m not doing this for my health!

I’m beginning to wonder if it’s me. Are all the things weighing me down outside my work life weighing me down in my work life? Am I letting things get me down so much that all my tables see through my fake smiles and blasé how are you’s?

I’m beginning to think they can. Truth is, I don’t care how they are and I don’t want to cater to their needs. I fill their drinks up and their food comes out right. Isn’t that enough? Why do they need more?

I decided to consult the web.

Susie Ross is a professional wait staff trainer. How she makes a career out of this I don’t know, but apparently she does and I was curious about what she had to say. On her website she claims that the biggest reason customers don’t come back to a restaurant is because of an indifferent or rude waiter. She says this makes up actually 68 percent of customer complaints. Okay. I understand that. I went to brunch today and the waitress seemed too busy to refill my coffee and see how my food was. I still tipped her 20 percent.

In Ross’s waiter-training newsletter she provides “Some Tips on Tips.” She says tips are our salary and it’s up to us to determine how much we make. Okay Susie. If I was in the drivers seat everyone would know that 20 percent is just good manners. Unless I’m completely awful, which I never am, then leave me what I deserve. If I look sad, who cares? Don’t kick me when I’m down and leave me crap money!

She says that not knowing how to handle tables because everyone is different is like a microcosm for life. Well, she says that in so many words. Check it out. Maybe she is on to something. Maybe I should take her advice. It’s my personal opinion people are too busy paying their credit card debt from the holidays that they cut the tips to spare some extra change. Thanks folks. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

So, I only worked one night this week which was a fabulous break from my normal 15 to 20 hour weekend. It snowed in Maryland which, if you’re from around here, you know is equivalent to the apocalypse. Roads were shut down while people were buried deep inside their homes with plenty of bottled water and tomato soup to go around. Needless to say, the restaurant was closed.

I too was buried at home which gave me some solid cabin fever and plenty of time to surf the web. I came across this article in the New York Times archive from this January that chronicles one reporter’s ventures into the world of waiting tables. I loved it. It was charming, accurate, and hysterical. He got it! He really did. I think you should check it out.

He talks about many things in the article such as sever lingo, crazy diners, and even crazier servers. I particularly appreciated this passage:

“Bryan, a young server with whom I'm training, brings me up to speed on the crazy things diners do. They let their children run rampant, a peril to the children as well as the servers. They assume that the first table they are shown to is undesirable and insist on a different one, even if it's demonstrably less appealing. They decline to read what's in front of them and want to hear all their options. Servers disparagingly call this a "menu tour." I acquire a new vocabulary. To "verbalize the funny" is to tell the kitchen about a special request. "Campers" are people who linger forever at tables. "Verbal tippers" are people who offer extravagant praise in lieu of 20 percent.”

I watched the movie Waiting with a fellow server again today. We laughed as Montey, played by Ryan Reynolds, brings this awful lady a remade steak full of a lot of various bodily fluids. He says something poignant to his trainee as he walks away from the ignorant woman enjoying her mucus potatoes and says something to the affect of; never mess with the people bringing you your food.

This New York Times reporter found out what it was like. As he says, “…last week I traded places and swapped perspectives, a critic joining the criticized, to get a taste of what servers go through and what we put them through, of how they see and survive us.” Let me tell you, after Friday night, I saw again how people eating out are people you need to survive. You’ll get more of those stories as the weeks go on. For now, enjoy the week treat your servers well.

So, what did you do this weekend?

I know what a lot of you are thinking. You watched the Steelers kick around the underdogs during Sunday’s Superbowl. Am I right?

Well, I’ll tell you what I did. I worked.

There is a fabulous movie coming out on DVD today. The movie Waiting starring Ryan Reynolds, Justin Long and Anna Farris, just to name a few, is now available for your viewing pleasure.

Now, a lot of critics and viewers agree that the movie could have been better and it really only applies to those working in the service industry. True. Lucky for me (imagine this said in a sarcastic tone), I do and therefore I feel I should promote this independent film to fellow servers. It’s like watching the story of your serving life unfold.

I work in one of those corporate cookie cutter restaurants as depicted in the movie. You know the ones. They all look the same; serve the same black and bleu burgers, rib platters, and steaks. They have the ugly vinyl booths and crap on the walls made to look like the owner rummaged through antique stores for years and somehow thought putting up his priceless collectables on the walls of a greasy restaurant was a good idea.

Like I said, you know the one. Anyway, the movie Waiting is like watching the documentary of my restaurant’s daily happenings, or really any in the same bar and grill genre. It follows a handful of people working there. Some are going through college, some are waiting to find themselves, and some are just trying to make enough to feed their habits. Now, I can say with some certainty that we, unlike those in the movie, don’t spit in people’s food. Trust me, I would have loved to on many occasions, but I refrain. The movie otherwise takes place in a store that looks like mine, with people in it like those in mine, and with situations similar to those in mine.

This Superbowl Sunday reminded me of a couple scenes in the movie. One in particular is when all the servers are sitting around because corporate thinks X amount of servers should be on when two would do fine. And, when I say two, I mean two. I think this Sunday about eight people came in to eat total. Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. But, like I said, two would have done fine. It's Superbowl Sunday! People don't eat in places like the one I work in.

And, for my worst table this week I look to another scene in Waiting to know I’m not alone. One of the servers in the movie has a table during the lunch hour. It is a deeply hillbilly looking couple and at the end of their meal, after ordering $40 or more of food and running the server to death, they leave the poor boy $3 extra and tell him to “keep the change.” The same thing happened to me!

The server, of course, is infuriated and, instead of doing what I did and calling it bad luck, complaining to friends and moving on, he goes up to the couple, hands them the change, and tells them that if this is all they can afford to tip, they probably need the money more than he does. Wow. My hero.

Anyway, if you’re a server or have ever been one and haven’t seen the movie, do so! And, if you aren’t a server but eat out frequently, I don’t know what to tell you. This movie may scare you. Or, better yet, it may scare you into being a better tipper (assuming you aren’t one already). Check it out, the DVD is on sale today.

Welcome to Servers Anonymous!

The other day I was waiting in a painfully long line at the deli counter of the school food court. I looked at the women making the sandwiches for people who contribute to my belief that manners are an urban legend and I thought, wow, I know how they feel. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I like to think I’m pretty polite. I say please and thank you.

I also show a special favoritism for those working in the food industry. I make sure I look them in the eyes when I express my gratitude. It’s not as easy at it looks! It’s like a secret society we all belong to. We all understand this weird world of serving other people food and when I go out to eat, you can bet your bottom dollar I tip well. And, if for whatever reason you don't know what this means, I highly suggest you check out this blog. When the woman went to hand me my club sandwich she pulled it away as I tried to grab it. She looked at me and asked, “Do you work?”

“I do,” I replied. “I’m a waitress.”

She gave me extra pickles and laughed saying, “I don’t even need to tell you! I know what you go through honey.”

This is going to be my blog about the fabulous world of serving. I’m going to share my stories of wacky people I come across, people I rather never come across, and the occasional people who surprise me with sincere kindness and gratitude. I’m not your slave, I’m your waitress! Welcome.