It's all you buddy

I've been thinking about the way people talk to the help. There are certain things, that when said to us, often solicit a very specific reaction. For instance, the phrase, "it's all you buddy," usually makes the hairs on the back of my next stand up as it usually prefaces a ten percent or verbal tip. Another one that usually send my heart sinking is, "thank you so much, you were the best waiter we've ever had." Anytime a guest feels the need to tell me I am the best waiter they've ever had, it is usally because they are compensating for the 5-8% waiting for me in the check presenter. And also, while it really is a nice sentiment, it also hits home in strange way. I am the best waiter - hurray! It's like being the big fish in a small pond or being the best at a sport when all of the others don't know the rules. Is it really something to be proud of, being a good waiter? But that is something for an entirely different entry - one that I'll post when I'm feeling especially full of self confidence and a genuine joy for my job.

There are myriad statements that trigger a Pavlovian response in the waiter.

"Can you bring us lemon and sugar please?"
This makes me think you are a cheap bastard who is audacious enough to make lemonade in front of me instead of paying the two dollars it costs to actually buy one.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of you."
That special gem is ususally spoken by someone whose heart is in the right place. They mean well. They somewhat understand what it is like to weight tables -all the issues of timing, pleasing guests, and managing a station. They know that one table making constant demands can upset the fragile harmony of the station. They also know that they are going to be that table and believe that by apologizing in advance with the offer of extra cash, it is okay to run the waiter like some kind of personal slave. Nine times out of ten that "hook up" is nothing more than 20%. Wow, you left me the industry standard? Thanks!

"I'm a waiter too." or "We're all servers also."
This one really boggles my mind. I eat out fairly often and I don't feel the need to tell the waiter that I'm also a member of the club. The waiter who feels the need to share this with the waiter is usually about to break some cardinal rule of serving. Don't be a demanding, outrageous guest to another server! Typically it goes something like this, "We're all waiters too, so we're really sorry about this, but can we get ten separate checks?" Or, "I'm a waiter at _____, do you think you can order me this on the fly? I need to be out in twenty minutes." No no my friend, you are really saying, "I don't mean to be rude, BUT..." This person is also fishing for a discount. Once again, no no. If they are a regular or I have some kind of rapport already established, then by all means, yes, I'm going to bring some free goodies to the table. But I'm not going to comp that dessert just because you don an apron a few nights a week as well.

"We need to hurry. We have to get the airport."
Really? Really? I might not be the smartest person in the world, but I have figured out over the years that when pressed for time, when in a rush, when facing possible missed flights and the loss of hundreds of dollars it might not be the best time to head out to a sit down restaurant. There are these really nifty places out there called fast rood restaurants and grocery stores that actually make food available to you cheaply and within minutes. Highly worth checking out when in a pinch.

"Can we get a chair for the doll?"
I work within minutes of the American Girl store and hear this one more often than you might think. No, no you cannot get a chair for the doll nor can you have a height chair for the doll. You might find it cute and your daughter might find it cute. But you are not here to be cute. You are here to eat a meal. If the doll orders a cocktail or at least an appetizer, than maybe I'll bring out a chair.

And because this entry was a bit of an angry rant, here are some of the funny things I've heard people say to their mothers/grandmothers while waiting tables:

"Look out Grandma! They might put you to work flipping burgers."

"Do you want some ice cream Grandma? No, no ice cream? You're too full? Then how about some fudge cake Grandma - you want a little fudge cake instead?"

"Grandma, they can probably make those gin gimlets you like so much."

"You remember what happened the last time you ate pork chops Grandma."

"Grandma, don't order anything too hard. We just paid for those teeth."

"You've always enjoyed a good beer or two haven't you Grandma?"

Who cooks all those manly meats?

I was going through some of my notes last night and happened upon one of my favorite customers. She was a well dressed, fairly attractive, middle aged business woman who dined at the chef's counter one evening. The chef's counter is a diner style counter that curves around the end of our open kitchen, allowing guests to view the excitement of the grills while they munch on their steaks and other such treaties. This particular woman and I established a nice rapport, discussing different foods and wines we enjoy. We made our way through the normal small talk over the course of the meal, hitting on the weather and Chicago landmarks among other topics. Near the end of the meal, she waved me over the counter and asked me, "Michael, are any of these men the chef?" She was gesturing to a pack of frantic line cooks sweating over the enormous grills, and drinking sprite from pitchers. "Oh no ma'm," I explained, "these men are the cooks. They prepare all the dishes but the chefs are the men in white coats, running the line from the other side." "Well, are any of these cooks Brazilian? Do you have any great Brazilian men to prepare the meat?" Hold up. This is probably where I should have excused myself from the conversation under the guise of another table in need, but I couldn't help myself and I plowed forward. "Well it's hard to say. Our kitchen staff is from all over Mexico and Latin America. They represent many different South American countries." "I asked because you know how those Brazilians love their meat. They grill all of those manly meats down there you know. Like at that Fogo de Chao restaurant - all of those manly meats being prepared by those Brazilian chefs." At this point I was choking it was so difficult not to giggle over this woman's constant repetition of the phrase "manly meats." "Oh yes, Brazilian steak houses are certainly well known," I replied, "but I don't know if any of these cooks are Brazilian." "Well I'll have to ask them. I'll have to ask these manly grillers where they learned to cook meat. They must really love it you know, to be slaving over these hot grills, cooking all of these meats, these manly meats." Seriously? I mean, seriously? Was that woman really saying those things to me, and how could she possibly think it's okay to say such strange, oddly graphic things to the waiter? I couldn't hold in my laughter any more and blurted out, "gross." "Excuse me," she replied. "I'm sorry ma'm, but could you please stop saying manly meats so much to me. It's really the most comical way you could describe the meat." Thankfully, she also began to laugh and we both agreed it was a very silly conversation we were having. I excused myself to fetch a refill for another table and thanked the woman for her conversation and for the unintended giggles as well. People say the most outrageous things to their waiters. It's nice though, every shift is different.

Funny things part 2

Some more gems delivered to me at the workplace...

"Are you our server? We'd rather have a girl...with boobs...I mean, you know, with nice ones."

"You look like a smolderingly handsome version of Angelina Jolie's brother."

"The people you have to take care of are at this end of the table. The rest of the table is my family and all they need is a bottle of white zin and some ice."

"Isn't the waiter cute? I just want to put him in a box and take him home with me."

"No, my son won't be eating because he has a smart mouth. So he can watch the rest of us eat and when he's hungry later he'll think twice about talking back to his mother."

"Did you always want to be a server?"

"I'll bet you'd like to go to school one day." (I have a B.A. which I obtained five years ago from a respected university

"Don't leave too big a tip. They'll start expecting them if more people do that."

Funny things said to me this week...

"Go ahead and tell him. Tell the waiter how you're the first one of us to turn 50."

"I'll have the apple juice and I'm ready to order at your convenience." - as said to me by a seven year old

"What's black and white and red all over? The newspaper." - as told to me by a five year old

"Please hurry. We need coffee and hot rolls now!"

"I need a drink recommendation. You should know I'm an ex-marine."

"My friend doesn't drink so I'd like her portion in my glass as well."

"Please try this card. If it doesn't work I'm running."

"I don't want to share my dessert. Please don't bring extra spoons."

"I'm on a special diet. It's terrible. I can only have things that have been boiled."

I'll have the waiter with a side of creepy

One of the first things said to me at work tonight was, "Go check out 306, he's so cute." At another point in the evening I found myself asking a coworker, "Did you see blue shirt by the host stand? Hurry before he gets seated." There's a funny sexual tension that always hangs around a restaurant. As employees we know that sex sells and some of us act accordingly. Some employees know just how to wear that uniform in such a way that you feel compelled to throw a few extra dollars into the tip. Working for a corporate restaurant in an issued uniform, there's less room to play. When serving on our patio however, we are allowed to wear any black shirt we like, and as such this station at times looks more like a runway show of tightly fitted, low cut black shirts that are more flattering thant the corporate smock. Ask any bartender especially if they are aware of flirting with the customers as a means to earning a better tip. Everyone enjoys it. It's nice to receive a compliment or some special attention. It can even be fun to engage in a bit of cheeky conversation with the server. As long as no one becomes too overbearing it can be a fun game to engage in some harmless flirtation with the server...on TWO CONDITIONS.

You may not proposition the server, hit on the server, or undress them with your eyes if you plan on leaving anything less than 20%. And under no circumstances is it okay to joke or imply that the tip is dependent on the server playing back.

The minute we begin feigning an attraction or hitting on you out of some sense of obligation is the minute we become whores. You're no longer paying us to bring your food and drink, you're paying us to stroke your ego with some verbal fluffing. In an informal survey of my coworkers I was hard pressed to find more than a few that have never been propostioned by a guest. And further, I was shocked at the number of servers who have been invited home for a threesome! Apparantly there are times that the customer is looking for something not on the menu. One of my favorites was the gentleman who left me his card with the name of his hotel and room number written on it. He also the took the time to circle the prefix before his name: Dr. I was tempted to show up with fifteen of my coworkers and show him how waiters party when they get off work. Another time a guest started hitting on me while I was using the urinal. He continued to talk with me while I zipped up, washed my hands and dried them. I assured him that while I do like to travel I don't plan on visiting St. Louis anytime soon, no I don't know what time I get off, and that I would be more than happy to answer any of his questions back at the table. When it came time to deliver the bill to his table he requested separate checks and wrote a message, including a ;), next to his 10% tip. That's just plain tacky. If you're bold enough to assume that the waiter is going to sleep with you, you've pretty much put it out there that the waiter is a bit of a whore. In doing so, please also assume that we are of the highest class and as such require you to tip accordingly.

One of my coworkers once had a guest by her a bottle of champaign to take home and invited her to join him in his hotel room the following evening for some more. Another coworker's table told her as they were leaving, "please read the comment card. You were wonderful." The comment card read, "Call us, we'd love to see you outside of work ;)" Again with that winky face! It's awfully silly and naughty with that winky face. What's a little threesome at the end of the shift? All in a day's work! And I've heard all kinds of propositions used on my coworkers. "I'd sure like to dip you in that chocolate sauce...why don' you just have one drink with us...you like to eat beef?" For the that last one, remember that I work in a steak house and when said with the right tone of voice it becomes one of the creepiest pickup lines I've heard yet.

I could go on forever about the sexual character of a restaurant so I'm going to call it a night here. And if anyone reading this plans to proposition a server in the near future please remember to tip accordingly, but not so much so that it appears you are trying to buy it.

There's a reason you're a waiter

I was recently reminded of this little gem. People love to throw out that condescending, pretentious zinger at the help. "There's a reason you work at the gap...there's a reason you're a waiter...there's a reason you're a telemarketer." And God love them, they are right. There is alwasy some reason we do the work we do, it just might not be the reason you had in mind. For instance, I wait tables because I make over ten thousand dollars more a year than I ever did in social service, I have the best benefits package I've ever had, I never work overtime, and I can pretty much get any shift off with minimal effort. Many of my coworkers choose to wait tables for similar reasons - they have their days free to go to school, or their nights free to be actors or artists. They can work only a few days a week and still cover all their monthly expenses. One of my coworkers only works Saturdays and Sundays as a cocktail waitress, and she makes more money working eight days a month than many people do working twenty. She was the recipient of some customer hate a month or two ago and got to hear those magic words - "There's a reason you're a waitress!" Actually yes, there is. It's so she can go to nursing school full time while still earning a full time salary working only eight days a week. It's best not to judge the help too quickly. The majority of my coworkers have bachelor's degrees and many possess masters degrees as well. I once had a coworker who was working toward her doctorate when she wasn't busy fetching your rolls and water.

The main source of the problem, I believe, is that waiters are human. And as such we make mistakes. Especially when you consider the number of people we serve in a day, week, or month's time. I probably serve at least forty people every night, assuming I get three rounds of tables in a mid sized section. Bearing in mind I usually work four dinners a week, that equals 160 guests each week, which becomes 8,320 guests a year...not to mention all of my lunch guests. Logically, I am bound to make a mistake at some point, while processing over eight thousand orders a year. There's going to be an incorrect order or two in the bunch. When I make those mistakes does it mean that I am some sort of stupid monkey forced to wait tables because I am too ignorant or lazy to do anything else? Or are those mistakes a reflection of my human nature, my inability to be perfect all day, every day?

But what if? What if your waiter really is so ignorant there is nothing else he or she could do? What if they really are your server because they are too stupid to suceed elsewhere? Well lucky for them everytime someone reminds them of that. Thank God there will always be those customers out there who smugly take joy in the fact that someone else has to be their servant. And what a relief that those customers also happen to be perfect - never making any mistakes of their own.

Waiters are liars

It's true. We lie to you. A lot. But to our credit many of those lies are things we tell you to make your dining experience a better one. Yes, there certainly are those times we lie to you because we want to upsell you a more expensive item (no, the boneless ribeye is terrible, get the porterhouse instead), or because we don't want to do something (actually the cappucino machine is broken so I can't make you any). Those lies will be reserved for another entry, as today I would like to focus on the times we lie to you for your own good. I have the perfect example from one of my last shifts.

I was waiting on my last table of the evening - a very low maintenance eleven top of twenty somethings. Everyone was happy, I was always a step ahead with my service and the meal was going well. As I cleared the empty dinner plates a request was made for the dessert tray. WHY?! Why does the last table of the night always have dessert...and coffee...and after dinner drinks...and then more coffee....and perhaps another drink? It's like they know they are your last table. They see the dining room thinning out, take note of the sea of empty tables around them and settle in for an extended post dinner stay. Sometimes referred to as "campers" these guests revel in their ignorance, lounging about until the lights go up and an impatient waiter has cleared everything off the table, including water glasses and even the salt and pepper. BUT, that too is an entirely different entry. Back to the task at hand - waiters and the lying lies they tell.

I brought the dessert tray to the table and began presenting our disgustingly huge desserts to everyone. As I rambled on about the delicious chocolate cake I spotted it. An enormous cockoach running wildly about the tray. Mind you, our restaurant is not exceptionally dirty or unkept. This is just the reality of restaurants. They are full of foody treats and as such will always have bugs to some degree. You can never get rid of those ingenious roaches. They are nearly indestructable, crafty little fellas that can and will live anywhere. This ambitious roach happened to make it all the way to the middle of the dining room and set his sights on a true prize, the dessert tray. I quickly brought the tray up high. near my face, so that the table could no longer look down on it. They all began arching their necks and straining to see the desserts as I quickly plowed through my descriptions. One guest attemtped to pull the tray back down, prompting me to lift it higher and take a step back from the table. All the while the roach ran about, back and forth over the display desserts, no doubt planning his next move up my arm. Worried that it would be spotted and not wanting to make contact with the beast, I excused myself from the table and returned the tray to its stand in the corner. When I returned to the table I explained, "I'm just going to tell you about the desserts. You don't need to see them. I love talking about them." "No," someone said, "we'd really prefer to see them. Why can't you show us the rest of the tray?"

Hmmmm. Tell the truth and give out lots of free stuff? Or tell a lie and look like an idiot? Valuing job security over my image at the table I chose the latter. "Actually," I went on, "I hurt my arm pretty badly this morning and that tray is so heavy. I'm sorry I just can't hold any more trays tonight. Which desserts would you like?" It was the best I could come up with in the moment. Glad to see I learned something from all those years of improv in college. I was about as clever as a rock at that moment. The table pondered this for a minute, one person replied, "Um...okay, I guess," and they eventually ordered several desserts. I had no choice. I was forced to lie to the table for the greater good. They didn't need to know about that roach and have their meal ruined. My manager didn't need to waste his time apologizing to my table and issuing comps and I certainly didn't need the grief of supervising the whole debacle. Clearly this lie was justified,as are many others that waiters tell. It's sad but true - there are times we must lie to you. Not because we want to, but because we want you to come back.

When bad waiters happen to good people

Tonight I made my (not so) triumphant return to the restaurant after four sick days. I am in no way ready to return to work, but as stated in previous entries, no work=no money. So I mustered all the positive energy I could, drank an extra big cup of cough syrup, took a couple hits off the fun inhaler the doctor gave me and set out for my dinner shift on the patio. I have Bronchitis and a nasty head cold at the moment, so there is constantly an insane amount of pressure in my sinuses. It leaves me feeling sluggish, angry, and hearing things as though I'm at the bottom of a well. Only able to capture about half the things my guests said to me this evening, I frequently just shook my head at them while smiling and repeatedely saying, "Okay...Okay." Understandably, there were quite a few miscommunications tonight. "Oh, you wanted extra barbecue sauce? I'm so sorry I thought you said potatoes." I was constantly apologizing for bringing someone the wrong item. About halfway throught the shift there was a moment when my ears popped and I could hear everything perfectly! Then the hearing in my right ear went out completely and the hearing in my left ear took on superhuman or robot like abilities. Thankfully I could hear what people were saying to me, as long as it was all directed toward my left ear.

The high note of the evening came with table 717. While serving their drinks I misjudged the weight on my tray and dropped all of the drinks onto the table - more specifically onto a cell phone, into one man's lap, and mostly into another guest's expensive coach purse. I really did an impressive job of filling the purse with delicious Caribbean Long Islands. They were very understanding as two of my managers miraculously appeared at the scene instantly and began handing out cards and apologies. We got them dry and offered to pay for any cleaning or replacement costs and I carried on with the meal. Things were going great...until I spilled a beer onto another gentleman's steak and mashed potatoes. I had now spilled five drinks on two separate occasions at the same table. I'm not sure if they could tell I was having bad night, if I came across as mentally challenged, or if they were just nice people, but God love 'em, they went with it. They were able to laugh about it as I assured them I am actually a very good server and that I was most sorry about the beautiful purse. My managers comped their entire meal, which helped ease the mood some more at the end and also secure me the twenty percent tip I probably wouldn't have gotten otherwise.

Overall I was slow, unfriendly and looked miserable. I am shocked that none of my guests comlained and that I actually made twenty percent tips all night. It's terrible having to serve other people when you're sick but it certainly helps to be serving good people. Thank you to all my lovely tables tonight. Except for Sloppy Joe Rib Man, my last guest of the night. You sir, with your extra roles, your extra sauce, and your spooky ability to eat every ounce of meat off the bone while coating every dish on the table in barbecue sauce, as well as your .80 tip - you get no thanks from me.

Sick sick waiter

The silly waiter has had to give up two shifts this weeks due to illness, so I guess it's time to finally see a doctor. It's funny that I have put off seeing a doctor, in that I pay a small fortune every month for a benefits package. It's pretty cool that the restaurant offers us benefits - one of the few perks of the job. It's time to finally use them and get well. So no posts for a while, as I have arranged my schedule for the next four days off. It's time to lay on my couch, take medicine, watch a ton of tv I've been wanting to see, and eat PBJ's and drink calcium enriched orange juice (for some reason I find this food combo very comforting when I am sick). Check out the blog in a week or so - more gems to come.

Can I get steak instead of fries?

Today's diner is all about choices. Maybe they're on the south beach diet, or the atkins diet, or weight watchers, or the zone diet, or whatever wildly restrictive plan that seemed most enticing to them. I understand the importance of regulating calories and watching your carbs, protein, etc. But there has to be some margin of error allowed when going out to eat. Some restaurants cater to these diets and that is great. Others, actually most, don't. It is not the restaurant's responsibility to list calories for you or other nutritional information. If you're that concerned about your diet you should already know the basic nutritional information regarding the foods you most commonly eat. And you should be able to make an educated guess toward the number of calories in a sauce or side dish - is it creamy? is based in animal fat? These are some of the very basic questions you can ask yourself to help determine just how unhealthy of a sauce you are eating. Or remember this easy gem - the better the food tastes, the worse it probably is for you. I try my best to answer my guests' questions about the food and to be as helpful as possible in assisting with diet friendly choices, but there eventually comes a limit. One or two modifications on a dish are fine. Perhaps you'd like the sauce on the side, or the vegetables to not be cooked in any oil. Okay, these are reasonable requests. Maybe you'd like all white meat or a vegetable in place of those starchy ole potatoes. Perfectly acceptable requests that clearly have a dietary purpose.

It is not okay, however, to begin drastically changing the menu because the exact dish you once cooked for yourself at home is not on it. Why can't we make you regular mashed potatoes instead of garlic mashed potatoes? Because they're not on the menu! Why can't we make you a breaded chicken breast with pasta? Because there is nothing breaded on the entire menu and we don't even carry pasta in the restaurant!! The audacity of such requests amazes me everytime I hear them. This might have something to do with the anger that usually accompanies these requests. People who want to invent their own dish usually feel very entitled to this dish, and as such will not hesitate to bark and spit at anyone who keeps them from it. I LOVE these people. Nothing at work gives me greater pleasure than forcing them to order an item off the menu. Usually there is a lengthy discussion involving many inuslts hurled toward the server and the telling of many lies. "The last time I was hear they did this," "I'm a regular they always do this for me," "They always do this at your other location." These guests also feel the need to explain our job to us - "It's really not that hard, just do it," "I don't see what the problem is and I want my salad," "The kitchen will understand, it's no big deal." Oh really? You personally know the chef and line cooks making your food? You've already spoken with them and explained that while cooking for three hundred other people they should set aside the time to prepare you a completely unique and special dish at the exspense of everyone else's dishes? In that case why don't you just go ahead and put the order in yourself and run it to the table. You seem to know your way around our restaurant very well.

I've gotten off into a very angry waiter rant and that is something I try to avoid here. So Ill try to bring it all back together for a point and a few basic reminders: 1)Do not ask for more than two changes to your food unless you have a legitimate food alergy. You are wasting the cooks' time and causing everyone's orders to take longer. 2)Be friendly and polite when asking for major changes to the menu. If a guest is cool about it I have no problem going out of my way to get them the exact dish they want. The minute they begin raising their voice is when I start saying no. 3)Be prepared to pay. Just accept that changes to the dish often involve a charge. You are asking for something extra, and as such are paying an extra charge. It's how restaurants work. It's how all commerce works - more services cost you more money. And finally, in response to may favorite request to date - No, you cannot have a side of steak in place of the french fries. And yes, there will be an upcharge - the price of a steak. And are you serious?

Hey big spender

This evening was an exceptionally special one. I'm not feeling so hot as I am coming down with something nasty. The massive amounts of congestion in my head helped to me hear about half of what people said to me and it was difficult to project over the noise of the crowded dining room, thanks to the cough that kept me up all night. This is one of those unfortunate waiter moments. I'm always telling people how much I love making money and having a flexible schedule and never working overtime, etc. etc. And it's true! There are a lot of perks to working as a waiter, but there are a few disadvantages as well. One of the biggest is the lack of sick time. I can't call in sick and just expect to catch up tomorrow. There's no half days or paid time off. Calling in sick not only means I screw over my coworkers by leaving a hole in the roster, it also means I don't make any money - money I probably need for things like medicine and reassuing comfort foods or massive quantities of drugs to drown my sickly sorrows in. Calling in sick usually involves finding your own replacement. It's ok to be sick or have something come up as long as you get the shift covered, which is not always an easy thing to do. So, not wanting to deal with the three ring circus that is calling in sick, I took one for the team and donned my apron for another night of wacky antics and delicious steaks.

I'll share with you the highlight from my all star cast of diners this evening...
The trio of business associates - one gentleman and two ladies. They had very important matters to discuss. In fact everything was so important it was such a hassle to be interruped by the waiter to do tedious things like order food and drink. Thankfully though, I was able to make them laugh and thus my intrusions were forgiven. The meal ran smoothly, the meeting came to an end and it was time to pay the check. The lone male reached quickly for it as I brought it to the table and said, "I'll take care of that," as he slipped his mastercard into the book. Now, I've come to associate credit levels with the design on the card. If the card is a solid, unatractive color, I usally cross my fingers that there will be enough left over for a tip. But for some reason I didn't think anything of his beige mastercard with the hideous diamonds on it (I'm curious if other servers will agree with this - but I also suspect that shady credit unions go hand in hand with hideous logos. Check out your own card - you know what kind of credit you have - does your card match?) The card was declined...six times...on three computers. Great. I printed a receipt that said declined, circled this, and brought it back in the book, saying, "I'll be back with you in one moment," as I discreetly pointed out the declined receipt to our pick up the tab hero.

Great discussion ensued at the table that involved pointing at me several times and a lot of checkng through walets and head shaking. After a minute or two of this I returned to the table and picked up the book, now with another beige diamond faced card, this one bearing the name of one of the ladies at the table. "Sorry about that, this should be fine." "It's no trouble. I'll be back in a moment." I ran the new card and brought it back the table, wishing them a good night and thanking them for their business. Five minutes later I returned to the table to collect the receipt and my tip from the book. There, on their $124 tab was my tip...$0. Of course. It was my fault the credit card was declined and awkward moments ensued. My fault that he doesn't know how to manage his money and also feels compelled to impress his friends. And my fault that she got stuck paying for the meal. Of course it's the waiter's fault. I placed the receipt in my pocket and though about I just paid four dollars to wait on these people. Next time I'm calling in sick

Check it out

My friend Stephanie has entered the world of restaurants for the first time. And she has thrown herself into the back of house as well. Good luck Steph on your endeavors as a pastry chef! If you're curious about what it's like to learn the art of pastry making in a trendy New York eatery or how it is in your first weeks in a restaurant then check out her blog, pastry monkey (pastrymonkey.blogspot.com).

Thanks nice lady

Today's post is brief and lovely - a moment of calm, if you will, in the sea of chaos that is the restaurant I work in. During my shift last night I was carrying several plates to a table and had to pause in the aisle to let an elderly woman pass by. She looked to be roughly 712 and had the most beautiful braids. In fact, everything about this woman was beautiful and somehow peaceful. We locked eyes from a moment and grinned before I sped away to drop the freakishly hot plates I was carrying. Later that evening I happened to walk past her booth where she was seated alone. I stopped by her table and said, "Excuse me ma'm, but you have the most beautiful hair." She took my hand, which surprised me and replied, "thank you, you're very nice." We looked at each other and held hands for a moment before I told her that I was happy to meet her. "I'm very glad to meet you too," she told me, and we shared an extended moment of smiling and hand holding before I pulled away and rushed off to check on my onion soup for table 706. It was a strange, peaceful, and calming moment in a place that usually leaves you feeling wrecked and depleted. Thank you cool old lady for brightening my day and granting me one of those special human connections with a total stanger.

Ja, Gunther, do you vant some help vid zos beers?

I overheard the above statement while walking past the bar during last night's shift. Gunther was struggling to deliver four beers to his friends waiting at a nearby cocktail table, causing his companion to make this query in her thick German accent. I giggled to myself, partially over the name Gunther and the memories it conjured of the old SNL skit Sprockets, and also over all of the feelings waiters have about foreign tables. In the movie Waiting when the hostess informs one of the servers that she has sat her a foreign table, the server asks, "are you mad at me?" while another server screams, "foreigners, I hate foreigners!" Sadly, sometimes we do hate our foreign customers. It is a royal pain to take all that extra time explaining things to the table. As I slowly explain each item on the menu, over enunciating each syllable, I watch as my other tables grow anxious looking for me. Falling deeper and deeper in the weeds at the hands of this foreign nemesis is no fun. The language barrier presents some interesting problems. Typically each person at the table speaks about three to seven words of English, excepting the host of the table who has mastered our language and commands a vocabulary of at least two or three dozen words. The host will undertake the difficult task of ordering for the table, something that always amuses me. The host never orders for individuals, rather he lists an array of dishes that will simply be brought to the table. For example, "Please for to bring one steak, a chicken, the fish, and the vegetables." Thus begins the order taking adventure. We struggle way through temperatures and side dishes, substitutions and courses. It is no easy task explaining that the catfish comes with whipped sweet potatoes and spinach so they must choose which item to replace with fries, or that the BBQ combo sides trade out together and that you can't pick and choose.

Sometimes I fantasize about learning foreign languages just to better communicate with my customers. Then I realize what a wildly small minded fantasy this is - I am not dreaming about learning a foreign language to better myself or to travel the world, I am dreaming about learning a foreign language to bring people their steaks in a more efficient manner. After taking the order there is another guessing game. Which "American beer" should I bring the table, or which "vegetables" might they enjoy as their side dishes? Typically I bring Sam Adams and corn, as these both seem very hearty and American to me. If I could bring apple pie as a side dish I would. There is also the problem of figuring out where the food will go. Many times I have taken the order from a large foreign party and then must randomly assign each dish to a seat number. In these cases if I am lucky enough to see my order come up on the line I usually find some reason to go hide in the back. I'll save the thrill of auctioning off the plates for the food runner or one of my wonderful fellow servers.

Once the meal has finished there comes the final gem of the evening, the tip. Herein lies the reason we hate serving foreign guests. I understand that waitstaff are treated differently in Europe. They are paid a real living wage and do not need tips to live. If tips are given, they are small and more of a method of communicating the service was excellent. This is not the case in the States. I make something absurd like $4.12 an hour. My check reads, "this is not a check," because my hourly pay is so small it is eaten up by credit card tips in a matter of hours. I need your tips to pay my rent and feed myself - your tips are my livelihood. It is difficult to accept that Europeans don't know this. I know not to leave a large tip in a European eatery, that this is considered rude as I am flaunting my money. Is it really too much to ask to expect Europeans to understand our customs in turn. Sure, we have a stamp that we can put on the check, explaining in several languages that the tip is not included, or "non incloso." This stamp does not explain that the industry standard is twenty percent or that leaving me five dollars on a two hundrend dollar tab is actually more insulting than leaving me nothing at all.

At the end of the day it's best not get upset over something that will never change. My foreign guests will always want a well done filet with french fries and an "American beer," and they will always leave me five to ten percent. It's best to remember those diamonds in the rough - the rare foreign tables that know the ins and outs of our culture and tip well, order easily, and get in and out with minimum amounts of grief. So please stop by anytime you like Gunther. We'll keep the Sam Adams flowing and well done steaks coming.

Kids say the darndest things

Well I was supposed to write this post last night, but I decided to watch videos of people's grandmas on youtube until 3:00 am instead. So my apologies to those at work who I asked to check out my newest post...here it finally is.

Last night while working on the patio, one of my coworkers waited on a family of five. When he got to the daughter, who was around six or seven, she asked for the kids cheeseburger. He asked her, "how would you like your burger cooked," to which she replied, "cut into triangles please." Yes! Often times we hate waiting on children because, as my old friend Coco says, "children don't order steaks." This is true, they don't order thirty dollar steaks. Instead they order seven dollar kids meals that include ice cream and a drink. And you know what...that is ok - they're children! And they often say and do the funniest things in our restaurant.

Another time one of my coworkers fell victim to our kitchen, which on occasion can take anywhere from 30 minutes to four days to get your food out. As she finally brought the order to the table, the small five year old took a tater tot from his plate, shook it in her face and told her, "you took to long with my grilled cheese." Seriously?! It hurts my heart when things like that happen. Here is another child being taught from an early age by his parents that is perfectly acceptable to harrass the staff. Too many parents teach their children that it is ok, in fact normal to be as rude as possible to the waitstaff, and as such we find ourselves getting dissed by children as young as five years old.

Once, while waiting on a family of four from San Francisco, I asked the son what he wanted to drink. The yong lad (about age 8 or so) thought about it for a moment and replied, "I'll have a Roy Rogers on the rocks. Easy on the rocks." Yes! Thank you Grandma or whoever ordered that drink this way infront of that boy, because that was one of the best things I've heard at work in a long time.

Thank you children for the entertaining things you say. You are a delight. Until you start ripping up your food into tiny pieces and throwing it on the floor. And until your start running and screaming through the restaurant while your disinterested parents assume the waitstaff to be a fleet of free babysitters. That is when you have begun to overstay your welcome. That is, unless you ordered the thirty dollar steak. In that case you are allowed a little time to, as my drunks told me the other night, "let it all out."

Bring me another bagamagamfp...yeah

Okay, so we all like to get intoxicated from time to time. I've certainly had my fair share of drunken nights out and there have been those nights that were dragged out just a little longer than they should have been. Mind you, these nights usually are spent at bars or clubs, or at my friends' apartments, where it is perfectly acceptable to drink until I truly believe I can speak another language and also think that it is okay to shout everything and make outrageous demands. I typically do not drink to the point of severe intoxication and then head out for a bite to eat at a restaurant. Sports fans love to do this. I do not mean to be ignorant and stereotype all sports fans, but many of them love to get all jazzed up in their team's signature colors, consume roughly fifty two beers, and when the game is over head out to one of their favorite night spots for a bite to eat and a game of harrass the waiter. Tonight the restaurant was a sea of yellow as the Iowa fans swept through in a barbecue consuming frenzy. The majority of these fans were very nice people, commenting that we need to open a location near them and that our homemade sangria is, "super!" Yes, thank you, it is, and hopefully one day we will open a location near you so that you might enjoy steaks and ribs to your heart's content. But there always has to be that last table - they somehow know they are your last table of the night and they are hell bent on behaving in such an absurd manner that no matter how well your evening has gone you will leave the restaurant furious do to their antics.

This special table consisted of three middle aged guys dressed to the nines in their bright yellow Iowa hoopty do . I approached the table already angry, as they were sat ten minutes after the patio closed, but reminded myself to be friendly as this was not their fault. I began my obnoxiously long corporate greet only to be interrupted by this request - "Bring usss shome hash browns with cheeses and yeah, um, yeah and some mrmphgrm." "Sorry guys," I replied, "we don't have any hash browns." "What, then just bring out some potatoes you know, and, uh, the cheese with the onions and the stuff." I hide my disgust behind a wildly artificial smile and begin determining each individual's level of drunkeness. I make sure to make each of them repeat back their order to me and ask them some random questions about temperatures and the like, trying to make them talk as much as possible. The guy in seat one it turns out is only mildly intoxicated and just rude. The guy in seat two is also mildly intoxicated and apparantly determined to get hash browns and he repeatedly asks for them. I finally tell him that I'm going to bring him some hash smothered and covered in the hopes that he will think he is in a Waffle House and calm down. The guy in seat three speaks complete gibberish to me but manages to perfectly state, "I'd like the bud lite bottle and not draft," so I figure I'll reward him with one beer before I cut him off. Before sending in their drink order (3 beers) I also find out that they are staying in a nearby hotel and are not driving a car tonight. We are good to go with one round of drinks!

When I return with the beers they begin grilling me on my sports knowledge. Those of you who know me will see the humor in this line of questioning. I don't even know what team from Iowa they are rooting for, much less the sport they play. This is tricky you see. These guys are drunk and hopped up on testosterone and the thrill of boozing and clubbing in the big city. They want their waiter to be a dude who can shoot the shit and crack a dirty joke or tell them his favorite football play of all time and why. I vaguely mumble something like, "Yeah, what's his name can't throw for shit. Maybe if he had an arm they might have stood a chance tonight," and cringe while waiting for the response. "Damn straight!" "Isn't that the truth?!" THANK YOU JESUS! I can't believe my bullshit actually worked and these guys believed me. I am now grateful that they consumed those fifty two beers before coming in. They ask for another round and I tell them about the bars up the street, suggesting they would probably enjoy a beer there. Thankfully they understand the unspoken message that their drunk asses need to go and they give up on the beers. After a few more requests for items we don't carry and some more unintelligable mumbling I bring them a check and tell that that do to a city ordinance they must vacate the patio after 11:00 pm (thank you random city laws!). They pay, ask for my reccomendations on where to, "let it all out," and stumble toward the exit. I think of the poor cocktail waitress they are headed for and laugh to myself, imagining them "letting it all out," at the next place.

Heath Ledger is an excellent tipper

We had a brush with celebrity greatness tonight...or celebrity hotness at any rate. The next Batman movie is currently filming in Chicago and as such we have had a few stars in our midst. Making his second trip to the restaurant, Mr. Ledger had the ladies (and the gays) in quite a tizzy. Within minutes the word spread that, "Heath Ledger is sitting in 311!" Also within minutes the side station two booths away had roughly 15 servers in - all doing outrageous things like polishing glasses and sorting papers so that they could look busy while gawking at our celebrity friend. Mind you this side station usually has about 2 to 5 people in it at a time. Like all gossip the news spread fast and soon we were all making excuses to walk past the booth and bask in his beautiful celebrity. "Oh my God, he took his hat off!" "He's eating ribs!" I felt the need to call my mother from the to-go room (and if any of my managers are reading this I assure you that I clocked out, made the phone call, and then clocked back in) to frantically shout at her, "Heath Ledger is here and he's eating ribs and he has beautiful skin!" I later laughed about this with a coworker only to find out she had text basically the same thing to her sister and several of her friends. And everyone wants to be the person waiting on the hot celebrity. "I don't know what I'd do...I'd swoon!" is what one coworker told me. Another paced the kitchen waiting for the ticket to come up so that he could personally deliver the food. "It's not fair, why didn't I get that table," was muttered several times from the side stations. And as you can imagine there were more than a few vulgar references made to inviting Mr. Ledger out back to recreate his famous Brokeback Mountain tent scene. Once he left we all wanted to know what tip he left. "Is he a good tipper?" "Did he hook it up?" The server at 311 was happy to report that Mr. Ledger left 30 on 70. Well done Heath Ledger - you are pretty and polite.

Is this the only menu?

Recently a woman asked me, "Michael, is this the only menu? Because I don't want any of this." There are roughly 50 different things you can order off of our dinner menu, but apparantly none of these looked enticing to said woman. "Sorry mam," I replied, "but that's the only menu we have." "You don't have any smaller steaks or maybe some other salads?" "Honestly no, though I would be happy to help you with a recommendation or we can also make most items to order if you have a food alergy or special request." She thought about this for a moment, and then further committed herself to the interrogation. "Yes, that's nice. But I'd really like a 10oz new york strip." "We do have a 16oz new york mam. As well as a 10oz ribeye and an 8oz filet." "You're not listening to me! I said I want a 10oz new york!"



what?



No Madam, it is you who is not listening to me. This bizarre scenario is one that plays out on a near daily basis while waiting tables. There are those guests who seem to think that if they ask a question multiple times, slightly rephrasing it each time, that they will somehow trick the server into giving them the answer they want to hear. I think that I was eventually supposed to reply, "you know what...we do have a 10oz new york strip, I just remembered!" Or perhaps I was supposed to reward her for her tenacity by presenting her with the secret expanded menu we only offer to the most clever of guests. These guests are tricky. If I take the bait and begin to argue I can usually say goodbye to a portion of my tip. I also have the option of giving in to whatever the outrageous request might, thus inviting the anger and disdain of the kitchen. What I want to say is, "no mam, there is no other menu. There are no other steaks and we will not be making you any special requests tonight because we have no reason to do so." Instead I politely offer a variety of my favorite dishes with the assurance that if they are not to her liking I will be more than happy to ask my manager to comp the dish accordingly. Suprisingly enough seeking out the "secret menu" usually goes hand in hand with a great love for comps and free meals.



Please do not ask us the same question eight times. And please do not expect us to cook a dish the way you cook it at home. If your meatloaf is so delicious perhaps you should have had your friends over to your house to eat it. And if you don't like steak than don't go out to eat at a steakhouse. Apply common sense to your dining out choices. Most restaurants now have their menu online. Do a little research before eating out - choose a restaurant that comfortably fits your price range and one that offers a variety of choices to your liking. And please try to remember that your server did not write the menu and he does not cook your food. He serves it you.

My first post

Recently on a trip to see family in California I was turned onto the world of blogging and the amazing online communities that exist by my cousin, whose blog, Mom Writes (http://marytsao.blogspot.com/) eloquently shares with us the ins and outs of motherhood. Reading her blog helped put at ease preexisting animosity towards blogs, after having the details of a relationship once broadcast in an ex's blog. Call me crazy, but I was uncomfortable with people knowing what we did the night before or how well our sex life was going - though it was somewhat of a boost to the ego to have everyone know it was going well. Nonetheless, I am now inspired to create a blog of my own, one that will share with the you the magic that is waiting tables. And what better place to start than the beginning...



I wait tables at a busy downtown restaurant in Chicago - one of the busiest in the city actually. And this is my first time working in a restaruant. It's been a lot of trial by fire, but a year and two months into the job I can safely say that I am one hell of a waiter and I have learned a few things about the restaurant industry. It has now become my mission to share my stories with others - there is so much that people don't realize about the restaurant business - how the money works, where your tip actually goes, the hierarchy of support staff, and so on and so on. It is my hope that as people learn more about the ins and outs of restaurants they will also come to see that the people working in them are just that - PEOPLE. We are not mindless servatrons programmed to bring your food and drink devoid of human emotion. We actually have feelings that can be hurt just as we are also capable of making your night out either the best or the worst you've had. So, as my posts progress I will share with you why your server does what he/she does and what you can do as a customer to keep from receiving poor service. But more fun for me, I will share with you some of my favorite tableside moments - the ones that constantly remind me of how much raw emotion is always at play at the table - and how your server is always in the middle of it.



For starters....



I recently waited on a family from Detriot - Mom, Dad, Daughter, Son, and Son's Roommate. It became clear over the course of the meal that Mom and Dad were seeing off Son to his first year of college and this was to be their Last Supper before he ran off to a night of binge drinking and partying til dawn. I listened as they reminded Son and Roommate not to spend all their money right away and to be responsible. There was talk of what classes they would be taking and what extracuricular activities sounded interesting. Finally, after Son finished his last bite, they were off in a flash (no doubt to begin the binge drinking). I came back to the table with dessert as Mom dabbed her eye with her napkin. "You're saying goodbye to a child for the first time aren't you," I asked. "Yes," Mom replied, "and I'm trying not to lose it." I relayed to them some of my own college exploits and impressions on leaving my parents for the first time. "He'll have so many stories to tell you when he comes home," I told them. "I hope so!" chimed in Dad. "And even more to that he won't tell you," I joked. "Even better," Dad echoed. I like this Dad. He is ready for his little boy to get into some trouble and have a few wild nights away at school. I assured them that even though their son was chomping at the bit to get out of the restaurant things would change in the next few months. "Give him time. Come Thanksgiving he'll realize how much he loves you and how lucky he is to have parents that let him go away to school." Mom and Dad thanked me for the conversation and I wished them well on their trip back to Michigan. As they left the restaurant I reminded myself how lucky I am to be a part of such moments. After all the walk outs and rude guests there are countless times such as these in which servers become part of another person's most vulnerable and intimate moments. Thank you for letting us see you like that. Don't ever apologize to your server for these moments either. We'd rather watch you cry as you say goodbye to someone than have you explain to us why after eating an entire meal it was unsatisfactory. Keep them coming and help us remember that we are not defined by what we do - we are people just like you.