And Furthermore...

I've taken a lot of ribbing at work for my antics described in my last post. I'm good-natured about it, so it doesn't bother me. And it was great that last night the same company hosted another paid programming dinner that I DIDN'T HAVE TO WORK. Whoo! It didn't surprise me at all to see the servers who did work it getting frustrated by the ravenous wolf behavior of the seminar attendees. Sorry, but at this point in the tourist (read: burnout) season, all I can think about that is better them than me. Oh well.

In discussing what was obviously poor restaurant behavior by these scoundrels with no tact, a recurring theme does arise, however. I don't remember who said it (probably a server), but you have to wonder what would possess someone to treat a server poorly. Think about it. This person is going to be handling your food! This person will have your plate in their hands behind walls that you can't see through, doing who knows what to it if you've chosen to be an asshole. Do diners really think it's a good idea to be messing with that person?

Now I have to admit that I've never really done anything dastardly to anyone's food. There have been times I might have liked to do something grisly to the condescending idiot who thought I was nothing more than his bitch, but no, I never have harmed anyone's meal. Still, there are times we servers let our imaginations run away with us. What might a pissed off server do to a patron's food? Hmmm. Most of the "stories" I've heard involve bodily fluids or boogers. I couldn't do that even to my worst customer, but I bet there are plenty who could. All I can say is I'm glad I'm in the industry and know my manners so I don't have to worry about any extra sauce appearing in my mashed potatoes.

I had a table last night deserving of some extra attention (if you know what I mean). It was during the rush and I had gone over to greet them. They insisted that they were ready to order and commanded my presence to take the order. Fine, I thought, at least they are ready and it won't take long. WRONG! There were six of them. They needed three separate checks. (I will write a whole blog about separate checks another time. For now, all you need to know is that separate checks are a pain in the ass). The first man to order was having a birthday which means if he could show me ID, his meal would be free. We go through the wallet procedure where he digs for it, fumbles through for the ID, presents it to me, I verify, tell him happy birthday, and commence to get his order. Easy, if a little more time-consuming than I can afford at the moment. It may have been his birthday, but his wife took the cake. She ordered from the lighter side--quarter chicken. And since she's apparently as cheap as they come (not frugal--cheap!), she wondered if getting all white would cost extra. I confirmed that it would, and she immediately poo-pooed the thought. Oy. Potato choices took another minute. Then dressing choice gave her a chance to showcase her bargain basement soul again. Yes, roquefort dressing is extra. "No, no. Then give me the tomato basil. I always love your tomato basil." Sure you do ma'am. Can you afford an extra $.75 to get a dressing you like since we are comping your husband's $17.00 steak? Guess not. I took great pleasure in the birthday boy's eye-rolling at his wife's total lack of class.

Finally, on to the next couple. We do another dance with potato choice, as she just can't really make up her mind. Yeah, this is the table who said they ready! to order when I tried to slip away to get that big table's order out to them. Ugh. The lady's husband senses my impatience, and sails through his order process. Bravo! He's been paying attention to my listing the choices that were coming to him. Five minutes into this order-taking festival, I'm finally to the last couple. I stare down the next lady, wondering how long it will take to get her order that she was so ready to give. She needs to hear the potato choices again. Picking just one dressing is too hard, so she orders up two--on the side! Of course. Her husband has been paying attention, as well. He does a commendable job of informing me of his choice of entree, potato, and dressing. Great! I gather up the menus and hightail it back to pick up that order. Luckily, it was the 14-top I'm sharing with Cathy, and it took a few minutes to put the order together in the kitchen. Whew. I'm not late. I put up salads for the six-top, call back the items I need to, and grab a cart. In spite of the idiotic ordering, my rhythm is still intact. I won't have to spit in that woman's sweet potato after all.

I'm just kidding. I would not do that. But can you see why some people make us want to goober up? Some days I think I've done this job so long that nothing bothers me, but others I feel like I'm just too cranky and cynical about people to continue. In truth, there are a million great customers we come across in our serving hours. It's that one table that can just crank your whole night askew. I'm going to remember the 12-top who looked like they were going to need about five separate checks, but put it on one check, and left 20% because then I can face my next section of diners with a positive attitude about the good of our fellow eaters.