Servers Anonymous

2006-05-10T09:11:00.000-07:00

I was reading a book review this morning about a novel written by a freelance writer who spent 20 years waitressing until her career finally took off. It’s funny, though, how her writing career took off with a book about waitressing.

I was talking the other day to that pinch-your-cheeks cute boy I mentioned in an earlier posting. Friday business has been slow for the past few weeks. He was getting irritable and frustrated when he blurted out a piece of wisdom I found myself thinking about days afterward.

He was looking around at his empty section when he said to me, “Now I know why they call it waiting tables. You really are always waiting.”

Ironic isn’t it? And, don’t you just love irony. I mean, where did they come up the terminology? But if you think about it, the idea of “waiting” goes even further. This is something Deborah Ginsberg discusses in her book Waiting. Paige Bierma talks in her critique of the book on how people waiting tables are doing so in the anticipation of something else. Few people think to themselves as children or high school graduates. Wow, I want to retire a server! Most people are doing so on the layover to the rest of their lives. Myself, for example, I do this because it’s one of the few jobs for college students that pay enough for me not to have to work that often. If I worked retail, I would have to work three times as much to make what I do serving. I know this because I’ve done it.

At this stage in my life, I am waiting for more. I am waiting to graduate so I can become who I have always dreamed of being.

Some people who stay, in the restaurant business we call them “lifers,” often don’t plan to be in that position. Maybe their dreams didn’t work out. Maybe something happened and they found no more reasons to wait, except tables.

The book talks about the role a server plays. It’s interesting how 2 million people are servers in this country. Two million people are waiting and I find myself wondering: what are they waiting for?

Happy dining!

2006-05-02T23:02:00.000-07:00

They keep telling me it's bathing suit season. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been too busy pulling my hair out with more work than I can stand. It’s May, people! This is college crunch time. Plus, I have a job. Who has time for the gym? Who really wants to go to the gym?

NOT ME!

Anyway, I was looking up new and interesting things to say to you when I came across this one waitress’s blog. She argues that waiting tables burns up to 200 calories an hour. I bet it’s more. The blog points out how physically strenuous the job is and how much of a work out the whole system can be. Who needs a gym when I spent 13 hours Friday and 12 hours Sunday working out at the restaurant? I bet my hips and thighs are in impeccable shape. Happy dining!

2006-04-24T20:46:00.000-07:00

He calls it The 8 Percent Look.

To be a server is to be a master mind of human body language. If you want any chance of making money in this crapshoot business, you have to be able to read people. For example, are they looking for you, or are you bugging them so much they are looking to make sure your aren’t coming over again (so they can really steal the salt and pepper shaker). Do they want a refill? Do they seem to like the food? Or, are they trying to be polite by not saying anything? Is the music bothering them? Do they seem too cold or too hot? Do they want a refill or are they going to explode with another glass of soda?

I find that most people do, in fact, expect you to read there minds. This can be annoying seeing as that I am not a mind reader but a mere college junior. But, I would like to think I am getting better at reading the cues people consciously or unconsciously give me.

My friend Kenny and I were talking about this the other day. He was working in the bar area Friday night. The bar is interesting because you get a real mix of people. And, more often times then in the dining room, servers get the I’m-drunk-so-here-is-my-money tip.

Another important part about reading people, as Kenny made me see, is reading whether or not they plan on tipping you appropriately. Now, if you are a server and you’re busy with a lot of tables on a Friday night, you have to weigh your tables and look at which ones are worth investing in and taking good care of, and which ones are worth your basic solid service. I don’t want to spend a lot of time on tables that I know don’t tip well. For example, more often times than not, younger teenagers do not tip well. I’m not going to chat with them and make sure they are happy 100 percent of the time because I know that, for me, it hasn’t proven worth it in the past. I don’t want to spend a lot of time on rude people, for obvious reasons. And, I don’t want to spend a lot of time on people who give what Kenny refers to as The 8 Percent Look.

What exactly is The 8 Percent Look? I’m glad you asked because I found myself wondering the same thing. The 8 Percent Look is the pursed lips, slanted eyebrows, and tense eyed look of people who are very unhappy. Oh no! I forgot their 197 refill of diet soda! Oh no! Their well done burger took over twenty minutes to cook!

I use these silly examples because I think there are only certain rare situations when 8 percent is all you should leave a server. I had one the other night. I went out with friends. A few of us were servers so we were very polite to her. This girl was ridiculous. She never checked on us, took 10 minutes or so to give us the check after we asked her for it, and had the nerve to ask me “Are you sure?” when I told her she gave us a check from another table that was of a lesser amount. No, you dumb ho, I want to pay 20 dollars more for my meal which is why I am asking you for another check. Give me a break!

Anyway, these are the people you give 8 percent to. I’ll have you know I gave her 15 percent, which is to me like giving 8 percent. And, these were exceptional and appropriate circumstances for bad tipping.

Most people, however, have little reason to tip poorly. I think a lot of it has to do with some people just being cheap. Now, this is most certainly not all people. I think a lot of my customers are fine tippers. But, I try to give solid service to everyone so I know there are other factors coming into play. Sometimes I deserve bad tips. When I don’t, however, I want to figure out why. So, like I said, some people are cheap. They are the oops-I-didn’t-mean-to-spend-so-much tables. Some people were raised poorly. Some people don’t understand what serving is like. Some people don’t understand that I can’t cook their food and wait on all the tables I have to. I can’t be blamed when their food takes too long, is cooked wrong, or has foreign objects in it.

Long story short, reading people is important. It is how we make our money. Bad tippers deserve bad service. Bad tipping is a bad habit and, like I always seem to say, rarely necessary. So read some literature I have for you about tipping, and happy dining!

2006-04-17T09:57:00.000-07:00

This will be a short one.

It just occurred to me that prom season is upon us. I work with quite a few high school seniors. I know that most proms include dinner, but the other day a group of kids came in dressed in formal attire. Proms aren’t the only formal dances going on right now.

First of all, I mentioned before that I worked in a corporate bar and grill franchise type deal. I hardly think a burger goes well with a dress and tuxedo. But, do what you want.

Second of all, there are a lot of dumb tweens out there who are eating out without mommy and daddy for the first time. I want to give you a heads up on the kinds of things you should and shouldn’t do, especially when eating out.

Check it out. It’s a Do and Don’t list for prom-goers. I think it applies to more people than that though. If you’re going to grab a burger in your formal gown, at least have some manners and class it up a bit. Happy dining!

2006-04-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

Today we are going to be learning a valuable lesson. Ladies and gentleman don’t mess with the people serving you your food.

I have said this before. I never once have messed with a table’s food. The honest truth is that I don’t have the heart. Sure, people can piss me off. But, I find that with a little empathy, a smile and, of course, free stuff, people nearly always keep it cool with me.

Never once, however, have I met three people like the ones who sat in my section Sunday night.

It’s story time folks.

I was about to be cut when my friend Katie, yes the one who gave me the $3 tip table from before, seats me with three teenage girls. We were all goofing off at the hostess stand when they walk in. One had red eye shadow crawling across her face. One looked about 9 years old. And the other looked embarrassed. They were dropped off by one of their fathers and left for me to baby-sit. I think all three were probably 13 or 14.

Now, I remember being young and, yes, obnoxious. I do not, however, remember being dropped off or raised by wolves.

I approach the girls and introduce myself. “What can I get you ladies to drink?” I leave and return with their drink orders. They greet me with about 18 of the most obnoxious questions.

“Do you have chicken tenders,” eye shadow girl asks me.

“Yes.” I point to the menu right in front of her face.

“How much do they cost?” she asks.

I point again to same spot.

“Can’t I just get a side of chicken? I don’t want a whole meal!”

So you’re out to eat and you don’t want a meal? Interesting choice of how to spend the evening. Oh, and interesting choice in make-up, doll.

“I’ll let you order off the kid’s menu. There is a smaller portion there,” I inform her.

“No, I want a lot a chicken!”

So, you don’t want a whole meal, but you want a lot of chicken. Interesting.

“Well,” I say, taking a deep breath, “We don’t have a side of chicken so is the kid’s menu okay?”
This, dear reader, is when the little ho proceeds to huff, turn her back to me, face the wall, and mumble under her breath. I’m sorry; I don’t think I know you. Have we met? I’m Sara, and I am the one who touches your food before you do. Is this really how you want to act?

The girl sitting next to her orders a burger and the other orders chicken tenders off of the kid’s menu. Apparently, she liked my idea. Both look embarrassed. So, I put in their order and bring out their appetizers. The eye-shadow girl says to me, “I didn’t mean to be ignorant.” I accept her apology and, in my own nerdy way, laugh at her incorrect usage of the word ignorant. I then proceed to get their dinners together. At this time a different hostess, Jen, brings out their meals and they, of course, give her a hard time.

It seems that, after six hours of debating the cost of chicken, eye shadow girl didn’t really want chicken. She wanted grilled cheese.

Dear reader, take a deep breath with me now. I’ve had time to digest all of this so I’m not quite as furious as you might be. Are you okay? Alright then, we’ll move on.

Jen informs me of their displeasure. Angry like a retail clerk who has to listen to Celine Dion’s “Because You Loved Me” over and over again on the store’s stereo, I storm out in a fist of rage. “Dear,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster up, “You did order chicken. And now, you want something else?”

She looks at me with surprise. I don’t think she expected me to give her attitude right back. “I wanted grilled cheese with a side of chicken.”

I remember her mentioning she wanted chicken. Interesting.

“Well, pick one,” I yell to her like her mother should have been doing at his moment, not I.

“Fine,” she huffs. “Grilled cheese,” she claims with a look of defiance.

She thinks she is clever but I will win the war. I take her chicken and I eat it in the kitchen while I wait for the completion of her new order. I could have made it into a side and charged her something for it.

No. I ate it.

Now, this is crucial point for any pissed off server: bringing out a re-cook. I’ll admit that I was tempted to spit in her food. I believe at one point I even asked the cook to. He gave me a look and I told him the choice was his alone. Then, I ate her fries. When the grilled cheese is done, I bring it out.

The girls eat their food. I ignore them. I was so tempted, however, to sit down and pass along some friendly advice.

I image myself saying, “Hun, you really should watch yourself. If you had the bad luck to be seated in any other section tonight, you would have gotten a spitball in your sandwich. Or, dare I say, much worse. So, be careful next time. You got lucky sitting here with me. All I have is attitude for annoying people who are too dumb to read a menu and order food properly.”

A lot of people don’t believe that servers actually will mess with their food. “They wouldn’t dare,” they think to themselves in blissful ignorance (notice correct usage of the word). People look at servers and they think that we are all working for them. Some people, not all, look down on servers.

In truth, it is servers who have the control. Sometimes a burger falls on the floor. Oops! If the people are nice, they get a new burger and an apologetic explanation. If they suck at life, they get a dusty, dirty, juicy burger. Would you like a side of lint with that?

I have heard worse stories though. One guy I work with, we’ll call him Bob, had a lady who continually sent back her martini. It wasn’t cold enough or strong enough or weak enough or whatever enough. Bob got so frustrated that he took her new martini into the bathroom and, let’s say, he dropped the ball (or balls) into her glass.

This one she enjoyed and drank with a smile. Ha!

There were so many more rude and obnoxious things these girls did. The only other one I will mention is my 10 cent tip. But, then again, I expected it. I rather have a dime in my pocket then give pretentious clowns like them any respect.

You think I’m bitter? There are worse out there. Check out bitterwaitress.com and keep well informed about the people dealing with your food. Happy dining!

2006-04-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard of 43things.com? Well, whether you have or have not, I’m going to let you know about it.

This website is a forum that asks people: what do you want to do with your life? I was looking around the site today. People say the expected things. I want to get married. I want to save money. I want to buy a house.

Other people say less obvious things like I want to love myself, stop lying, and buy a dog, ext…

I thought this one was interesting. Ninety one people said they want to eat out less.

As a server, I’m glad the number is low.

However, I think this is an interesting thing to point out. My record: in one day I ate out 5 times. I had breakfast at one place, lunch at another, appetizers at another place, dinner at the next place, and my final destination was for dessert. And, all of these places were sit down, tip the waiter, restaurants.

This is obviously excessive and I felt sick for stuffing my face and wasting money. I will never do that again. However, I think that this week I am leaving a comment up in the air. Do Americans eat out too much? I see some people in my restaurant every single week. Some of them I see more than once a week. Is this excessive? Or, is it simply a good way to meet people, enjoy good food and conversation, and get of the house? How much is too much and does it even matter?

I think I spend an average of $100 or so a month on eating out. Most people on this website complained about how if they ate out less they would have more money to spare. Plus, eating out isn’t always the healthiest option. Some doctors eeven argue that dining out is one facet of American's weight problem.

What do you think? Check this site out, look around, and think about it. Happy dining!

2006-03-29T09:39:00.000-08:00

I think it’s time to have an entry about children dining out.

Quite a few of my fellow serving buds were bitching this weekend about a common pain for the server. Let’s all say it. We know what it is. We may hate to admit it. It’s children!

Now, don’t get me wrong. Not all children are small versions of the Antichrist. Once in a blue moon the server finds themselves lucky to be in the presence of a well behaved, polite and adorable child. Well, I had one just the other day. This child, probably only three or four, even ordered for himself and capped it all off with a thank you. And, you know what; the parent didn’t even have to tell him to.

I don’t know about you, but when I misbehaved as child, especially in a restaurant, my parents had no problem putting me in my place.

Oh, not 90 percent of parents these days. Half of them don’t even have the manners themselves so how can we really expect their kids to?

For all you servers out there, I feel your pain. I feel the pain of picking up shredded paper, chicken tenders, cereal, and crayons off the floor. I feel the look of disgust you get when a child is running rampant, in your way, around the restaurant. I feel your pain when the fresh-out-of-the womb infant is wailing and your customers show you their displeasure with a “Can’t you do something about that?” face. I do. I feel you.

(Sidebar: My parents NEVER went out to eat when us kids were 8 minutes out of the hospital, by the way. So, for anyone who has a problem with that statement about babies, you’re going to need to go ahead and get over it. You know it annoys you when other people’s children cry, so don’t act like the same isn’t for everyone else. Seriously now.)

Anyway, I suppose the moral of this story is, teach your damn rugrats manners. If you’re going to inflict on the worlds not only your bad manners but the ones you pass on to the kids, stay home. And, I found a good site for parents looking to teach their kids a thing or two about table manners. I’m no expert, but I see kids come and go and it is almost always the same thing: their obnoxious and they don’t have to be. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. Happy dining!

2006-03-28T19:29:00.000-08:00

So, it’s been a while.

I had an interesting weekend. I did. I’ve been thinking a lot about my last blog, my squatting friend, and paying close attention to what my co-workers do to earn tips. One girl puts a big grinning smiley face on every check. Another will sit in the booth with tables she really gets a long with. Another guy cracks jokes.

I’ll admit, I added smiley’s to my normal thank you note on the bill. I still however, refuse to squat.

But, it all got me to thinking: does any of it really matter?

Think about it. Your server is average. He or she smiled when appropriate, doesn’t give you candy, but keeps your drink full. Do we really need the smiley’s and the conversation. Personally, I hate when I’m eating out and my server talks to me. I don’t know. I’m not dining out with them, right? So, I try to give people their privacy and be the silent server.

Does this make me less worthy of a good tip? Check out this article. CNN’s Jeanne Sahadi writes, continuing her 2003 series on tipping with the article “Tipping not Optional.” She talks about how, in the long run, it doesn’t matter. Even the worse servers often get tipped anyway because of the all too familiar American guilt complex. For example, this weekend, I totally forgot to put in this couples order.

Let me break it down for you. There were five of them: three small children (yes, children) and two parents. They asked me to ring in the kids’ food with the appetizer and, in attempt to manage the time they all came out, completely forgot to go back and ring in the parent’s dinner. Yeah. I got to wondering why it was taking so long when I dawned on me, I didn’t even ring it in! Now, this was truly crappy of me. I was so apologetic. I felt so bad. They had three small kids who were bored and fussy. They had to wait! I gave them dessert for free to compensate for the hour they waited for their food. I kept thinking, their not going to leave me anything. They left me $10 on a $50 check. I didn’t deserve that.

Now, think back to my previous posting about the women, the kids, and the $3 on a $60 check. People are going to tip what they’re gone tip. That’s what I’m learning. It's the luck of the draw with every table that walks in the door. Here's hoping Lady Luck doesn't forget me. My car payment's due!

2006-03-14T19:54:00.000-08:00

Another dissappointing weekend. Well, Sunday I was sick so that was understandable. Fridays, however, are just not what they used to be.

In one of my moments of standing around bored I got to thinking about this guy I work with. He is this adorable goofy guy who only started working there a month or so ago. But, he keeps getting put on the best side, in the best section, and rolling out at the end of the night with more money than anyone else, even the closers.

Why?

Sure, he is pinch-your-cheeks-cute, funny, and sweet. But he, like the rest of us, finds diners occasionally irritating and gets angry and weeded and flustered. Why, I ask again, is he sometimes making twice what I do?

I was browsing the web and I came across this CNN article called Waiter Tip Tricks. The writer discusses a study conducted in 2004 that addresses the habits of servers in restaurants like mine and what they did to increase their tips.

Now, I do pretty much everything on the list down to the thank you note on the bill. So too does this guy I work with. There was one difference, however, between the two of us and our serving styles: the act of squatting next to the table. He does it. I don’t.

Few servers I work with do this, actually. In fact, I can only recall one other girl doing it and she usually only does it when there is a kid at the table.

Now, this is something you would never do if you were working at a fine dining establishment. But, somehow, with these “low- to mid-priced casual dining restaurants,” as the writer calls them, the rules change.

Whatever.

I watched this guy at work. He walked up to his tables, greeted them the same way I do, said the same things I do, but he squatted.

He makes more money.

Is this all it takes to make people happy? Squatting? Think about this for a minute. I mean, really think about it. Squatting. Squatting next to a table seems to make people tip more.

People are ridiculous.

I guess I’ll have to stick to making less money. Or, I can put some smiley faces on the bill next to my thank you and throw my tables some extra candy. Maybe that will compensate for my lack of squatting. Happy dining!

2006-03-08T09:51:00.000-08:00

I can believe it; this is what happened to me… almost exactly!

I was reading my favorite blog for servers, waiterrant.net, and the entry titled “Tiramisu Dream” this morning when I shot up in my chair in amazement. This guy practically told the story for me!

So it was a warm Sunday, or hangover Sunday as I like to refer to it. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in my restaurant is hung-over on Sundays.

So, everyone is in a grumpy mood as the Sunday “holy-rollers,” as my boss affectionately calls them, come in.

I was doing great, in a good mood, and the money was reflecting that. It’s about 3pm when this couple rolls in. They, of course, complain about their original table and move into my section. Sonja hands me the silverware she intended to give them. “They’re all yours,” she tells me with a sly grin.

I take a good look, sizing them up. The man is wearing a white turtleneck under a blue blazer. He looks a little over fifty. The women he is with slides into the green booth. He slides in next to her. Wait, I think to myself, is this a table for four? I walk closer. No, they only have two menus.

They two begin to embrace one another as I approach them. I blush three shades of pink and look at them. They notice me, unwrap, and I introduce myself. They give me the, oh so funny, well I’m such-and-such and this is such-and-such. Very cute, right? I’m supposed to introduce myself. I smile politely and ask them what they want to drink. The two are obviously flushed as look at each other giggling because it is just so funny that they don’t know what they want to drink. The man looks at me with a smile, “Could you give us a minute?” he asks.

“Sure,” I tell him, slightly relieved. I need a reprieve.

I go back after noticing the two, after embracing more, have, in fact, seen we have Coke products.

She orders a root beer. He gets water. You guys are so good at making decisions, I think to myself. That was a tough one.

I give them their drinks and the man tells me they want an appetizer to start off with. I take their order, his hand feverously close to her inner thighs at this point. I ask if they need more time to order lunch. He says they do and sits the menus on the other side of the table. If you aren’t going to look at them, why do you need more time?

I decide to avoid them until their food is ready. I sit the plates down and ask if they have thought about they want to order. He tells me they just want to munch and orders more apps. Fine, I think. They’re low maintenance and polite. I mind the PDA (or Public Displays of Affection), but I’ll get over it.

I decide to only go to them now and then. They seem to appreciate the privacy as they gaze affectionately into each others eyes while gobbling down dips and wings.

I watch them from the service stand and say to Sonja, “These two are like teen-agers.” She leans against the stand with me as we look at the two, oblivious, kissing and laughing and smooching.

“I hope I love my husband that much when I’m their age,” I tell her.

“Ten bucks says they’re not married,” she says.

“You’re probably right.”

“I bet it’s a second marriage. Or, they’re dating.”

“Or, their dating on the side,” I smirk. The funny thing about cheating men and women, they think they are so sneaky. I remember this one man in particular. He came in one day, rolls up in a red sports car with a leggy blonde. What a cliché right? Anyway, a week later I see him again in the restaurant with a wedding ring and a bitter looking woman. I could be wrong, but I bet she thinks something’s up. I sure do.

Anyway, like in waiterrant.net, I was suspecting a decent tip. Smoochy couples nearly always tip well. Like he says, the man knows he’s getting laid and wants the whole world to feel his glee. He left me $10 on a $20 or so bill. I am happy for you sir! “Have a nice night.”

“I will,” he tells me. I bet you will slugger. Now, go get ‘em!

2006-02-27T21:24:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-02-18T15:07:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-07T15:08:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-01T12:56:00.000-08:00

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.