Hello Everybody!

Do any of you have any experiences with daily deals? Has your restaurant done a daily deal and been completely slammed? How did it turn out? How were the tips? Any repeat business?Would you recommended it as a good way to get business? We would love to post some stories regarding your experiences with daily deals (I can imagine some FANTASTIC customers came in – and tipped you on the total check BEFORE the discount). Please submit some stories regarding daily deals or just post them in the comments! Thanks and I hope everybody makes some money this weekend!

- Stuck Serving

Normally, I’m not racist, sexist, homophobic, ageist, or anything like

that. I’m completely for equality, and I’ve been told that shows

through my serving, as I treat everyone the same.

But, sometimes, people just prove the stereotype that makes people

biased, and even I can’t help but generalise sometimes. Of course,

there are some that disprove the stereotypes, and keep your faith in

individuality strong, but quite a few don’t.

One table I had was like that. They were Pakistani, I believe, all

nine of them men, and they seemed to believe that since I was a woman,

I should be at home, with a husband, barefooted and pregnant while

making dinner for when said husband comes home. Now, don’t get me

wrong, I’d love a family of my own some day, but that life isn’t for

me.

So, pretty much the second I walked up to them, I got an intense

feeling that they really didn’t like me. Regardless, I put on the

biggest smile I could and treat them the best I can, despite the

obvious glares. Unfortunately, they seem to think I was their slave

and ran me ragged, the second I got back to their table I got ‘asked’

for another drink refill, more garlic bread, etc, etc. And I use the

term ‘asked’ loosely since they usually just grunted ‘Bread’ or

‘Water’.

Since it was a slow night, and almost closing time, I was the only

server left and they were my last table, meaning that each time they

‘asked’ for something, I couldn’t make the excuse I was busy, and they

knew it.

Finally, after what feels like hours (In reality it was only 45

minutes), they finally ‘ask’ for the check. Their bill comes to a

whopping £200 (About 300 USD, which, as a 9 top table was still a

pretty large bill, but not all that surprising with how many drinks

and garlic bread refills they asked for.)

And then, there was the tip. I was hoping that, by some miracle, I’d

managed to give a good enough service that they’d at least somewhat

consider a large tip. No such luck. My tip? £1.50. Not even 1%. I was

furious. I’d been running around like a slave for them for 45 minutes,

and they didn’t even give me a 1% tip?

It’s tables like these that give me that little voice inside, which I

hate, that always says that a colored group will give me a bad tip.

It’s quite often proven wrong, but sometimes, it’s proven right.

If you don’t want to be stereotyped, don’t act like the stereotype,

please.

- Lizzie

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

After a rigorous work shift in which a man labors physically and

doesn’t earn the wage at which he feels valued, he can find solace

in only one thing. Well, two if you want to be technical: a shot and a

beer. Also known as a beer and a bump (although where I come from a

beer and a bump is a much different remedy.) Many call this cure a

boilermaker.

It is believed that the term boilermaker is in reference to the men

who built steamships in the 1830’s. After a hard days work, sweaty

and weary, these men would find their way to their local tavern, and

the local doctor would prescribe what he knew best. A shot and a

beer.

A shot and a beer. Simple and perfect. For the deed, I prefer whiskey

these days, chased with a watery lager. If the night is promising to

be an upbeat one, I’ll substitute in a shot of tequila. In various

regions the shot changes. Grand Marnier in DC, Jameson in New York,

Jack here, Jager there. Best to go with whatever the locals drink.

Anything with a proof around 80 will do. As for the beer, I like a

light, almost flavorless pilsner. I’m just using it as water anyway.

Something to give me the illusion of refreshment and hydration. A

palate cleanser to help me appreciate the shot.

There is alchemy being performed here between our humble shot and our

unassuming beer. The shot runs inward and warms to the core. The beer

washes over and cools. The majestic ebb and flow of life is revealed.

A certain magic engulfs the drinker.

The first shot and beer might not get you drunk, though if the day is

right, they could leave you with a blissful buzz. What the shot and

beer are sure to accomplish, in only an instant, is to cleanse you of

the day. The stresses, the pains, the worries, all wash away as that

sweet nectar flows down your throat. It is the reset button. It is

shaking the etch a sketch. It is the ferry ride from the work world to

the next. Whatever the cost of the shot and the beer, it is just your

payment to the ferryman. You are thankful to pay it and you tip the

man well.

You are now free to laugh at the troubles of your shift without

bringing up the rage they filled you with. You can talk about your

true passion without being suppressed by the dreariness of your daily

grind. You can look at that girl across the bar without the shame of

how you spent your day. You were emptied of your mundane degradation

the moment the shot glass clicked down hollow on that bar top. So go

ahead, give her a smile with a little smirk to it.

You are fresh. You are newborn and enjoying just being alive. Another

shot and another beer and you just might remember how perfect you

already are. You might remember how celestial a moment can be, and

that you are only in this moment. You might remember that right now is

all you need. You might remember that you spent your day working hard;

you gave the day all you had, and there is honor in that. You did your

job well, and today, that is enough.

Tomorrow it will be enough too. But you might not remember, at least

not until you have had your shot and your beer.

- Matt

I recently started working at a chain Italian restaurant about nine
months ago. It is my first serving job and i’m very grateful for it
being i’m the youngest there and had no experience. One night i got a
table that im sure every waiter has had before. The one were you know
its going to be a waste of your time and every other server takes it
upon themselves to point out your fucked. It was four black women, and
keep in mind i’m not racist in anyway however more then less the tip
will be less then generous. Maybe its the area the stores in or
whatever but its a well known fact throughout the store. The big
problem i had was i needed to make another 100 by the end of the night
to pay my car payment the next day. This was my last table and i was
expecting maybe a 10 dollar tip at the most. When it came time for the
check i had given up on the idea that i would make enough money and
began thinking of ways to push it off which was unrealistic. To my and
everyone else’s surprise they tipped me 12o dollars on a 100 check. I
don’t know if they made a mistake or if god gave me a miracle but i
like to think it was an act of kindness, something like i’ve never
seen. I never mentioned to these ladies that i needed to make 100, i
just served them like i did everyone else. All in all the point i’m
trying to make is you really shouldn’t judge or serve anyone
differently because regardless of skin color you never know a position
someone else is in and you gotta be grateful for everything you make.
Being a server with an underlying racist mind set is just immature and
wont get you far.

- Bill

I have a coworker who freaks out over spelling errors. Apparently I
spelled blue cheese wrong. I insist that I didn’t of course. “That’s
how it’s spelled! Look at the jug! I bet you any money it’s spelled
that way!” She slams the large plastic container down on the counter
in front of me. It read in big bold letters,”BLUE CHEESE”
Unbelievable!!!

- Speld Rong

I have worked as a server in a Greek restaurant, as well as a caterer
for the same restaurant. Out of both of these jobs, catering is by far
the most difficult and underappreciated job, and people have the
audacity to not tip (even though we have tip jars at the bars). Now I
know what you are probably thinking, “Why should I tip at a
wedding?” Let me explain by describing my most memorable catering
gig: it was a late July outdoor wedding reception in the south (103
degrees that day. The bride and groom were nuts). There were 175
guests, 4 servers, 1 bartender, and 1 food prep. The setup team (AKA
us servers) arrived three hours early (eleven AM) to set up all of the
guest tables and buffet stations, decorate the entire venue (our
company does everything from the food to the flowers) and start
setting up the food. Then the reception started and while the guests
were able to dip into the pool to stay cool, we had to keep walking
around serving food and clearing plates in our all black uniforms. The
guests were particularly nasty because of the heat (and seriously who
can blame them?) and kept us on our toes constantly refilling glasses
(again, can’t actually blame them). The reception lasted 4 hours
(until 6) and it started to cool down a tiny bit, so it was about 99
or 100. After the last guest left around 8 we were able to start
cleaning up, and we were packed up by ten, then had to drive an hour
back to the restaurant to wash all of the dishes and put away the
equipment. A kind soul left a 20$ tip which was divided between the
six of us, and all in all for that 14 hour day I made 104$. Which is
what I would have made working four hours at the restaurant. Go
figure. So to all my fellow servers out there: the next time you go to
a wedding, be a pal and slip the servers a couple bucks.

- Lannie

I work as a hostess at a chain seafood restaurant, and I love it. My
managers and co-workers are amazing, and for the most part my
customers are lovely people. My restaurant is a decent size for our
area, and can comfortably seat about 300 customers at a time. However,
as most of our seating consists of 4 top booths, we are very limited
on large party table space.

I was hosting a Wednesday lunch shift by myself, and we filled up
quickly, with my wait consistent at 10-15 minutes. Right at the peak
of my lunch service an adorable little old lady came in and asked me
how long the wait would be for 35 people. I honestly thought she was
joking. No such luck. I took a quick run around, and my manager
approved me giving servers additional tables (our servers are only
supposed to have three tables) and I quoted the lady 20 minutes. She
was very angry because her group was very hungry and it was outrageous
that they had to wait twenty whole minutes to be seated and they had
better all be at the same table because they refuse to be split and I
was obviously a terrible hostess. Moving on.

I pulled together 9 four person tables to accommodate them all, and
was able to seat them in ten minutes, not twenty. The lady who was
heading up the little outing obviously knows more about the restaurant
business than I do and explained to me that it was unacceptable that
her party had to wait 30 minutes to be seated (I had no idea that
12:25-12:35 was thirty minutes…she is so much wiser than me)
especially when they had been quotes 5 (…) and she would never eat
at this restaurant again. Fine by me…

After I got that party seated, another little old lady marched in and
informed me that she had a party of 10 that wanted to sit at a big
round table and the rest of her party would be arriving in twenty
minutes but she would like to be seated now. I explained to her that
it would be about twenty minutes before I would have a table
available, and to let me know when the whole party had arrived (policy
is that I cannot seat a party unless they are all present).
Well…”how dare you tell me when I can and cannot sit? This is an
office party for a DOCTORS office and I demand that I be treated with
the respect I deserve.” Wow. She demanded to speak to my manager,
and complained that my service was terrible and that I wasn’t doing
my job and that she expected her party’s meals to be comped. My
manager was trying so hard not to laugh that he was literally choking.

The rest of her party arrived and I had a large round table get up. It
took me a little while to buss it because there had been 5 small
children sitting there (pretty sure they all had crablegs) but I was
finally able to bring the lofty DOCTORS office party to their big
round table. Well, they don’t want THIS big round table, they want
the one directly across from it that is about six feet closer to the
bathroom. And is already seated with a table of 10. I explained to
them that it would be longer for that table because there was…oh I
don’t know…a party already at it. So the lady marched over to that
table and asked them how long until they would leave because this was
a DOCTORS office party. And somehow this became my fault and the party
of 10 started glaring at me. I got my manager over, but the party of
10 was already so mad that they just got up and left. Didn’t even
tip the server…like it was her fault.

Cleaned that table off, and seated the party of seven there, and went
back to the lobby just in time to witness a Coach bus pull up in
front. Apparently the service professional had neglected to relay to
my manager that a tour group of 45 would be dining with us.

- Lannie

Image via Wikipedia

I work at a high volume roof top bar/restaurant in a city famous for

it’s beautiful weather, historic charm and abundance of watering

holes. Needless to say we get insanely busy during the summer and

especially holiday weekends.

The Sunday night of Memorial Day weekend I was working the upper level

of the bar starting at 2pm. Before the bartender and the other server

and I were even done setting up we had a crowd of people waiting. Mind

you we also do not have a hostess, so there is nobody regulating where

and when customers sit. By sunset around 7:30 we were completely

slammed with customers waiting for tables and immediately sitting down

at dirty ones that had just been vacated. I was 9 tables deep when a

couple sat down at a recently vacated (and dirty) table with beers

they had gotten from the bar. Normally customers ordering bar drinks

then sitting at my table would annoy me, but on this particular night

I was actually relieved to have one less table available. Minutes

after they sit the woman impatiently waves her empty Miller Lite at

me, so I give her a nod of recognition and ring in another one.

Approximately 15 minutes go by with me running around trying to please

everyone in my section, then I look up to realize Miller Lite lady and

her husband nowhere to be found. I can deal with people being rude to

me, but a walkout is something I absolutely will not tolerate. So I

tell the other server to watch my tables and fly down 4 flights of

stairs to track down the couple.

I was able to find them walking out of the front door. I chase them

out and hand them their tab (which was only $4, but hell if I’m going

to pay for them walking out on me). After telling them that what

they’re doing is not only extremely rude but also illegal, the lady

responds “Well we haven’t seen you in 45 minutes.” Not only is this a

complete exaggeration but she is also being a total bitch and failing

to understand how busy we are. I say to her “I apologize for the poor

service but we are very busy tonight and I can’t be everywhere at

once. I understand if you don’t want to tip me, but please pay your

tab.” The husband then says “Yeah, we’re not tipping you. Do you have

change for a $10?” I reach into my book, hand him 6 ones, take his $10

and turn to get onto the elevator to take me back up to the bar. “You

have a good night!” The woman shouts at my back. I can’t take it

anymore. I lose it. So I did what any rational human being would do,

pop my head out the elevator doors and say “You do the f***ing same!”

The couple and the bouncers stare at me in horror.

I knew I could get in major trouble for speaking to a customer that

way, but damn it felt good. Of course the second the elevator doors

shut I burst into tears at my own misfortune, but it was almost worth

it to get to play the bad-ass for a few seconds.

Oh, and I walked with $320 that night, so suck it Miller Lite lady.

- Joanna

A few years back a server who I apparently was getting coo with me
decided to express her dissatisfaction with black tables (she is white).
“Poor tippers” she said. There is some truth to that but that’s for
another discussion. She said she never liked having them because of
that ‘fact’. I thought “Perhaps it’s the unconscious attitude of
your underlying racist tendencies they pick up on. Perhaps you treat
them differently than other tables. Perhaps…” Anyways, I bit my
tongue for a couple reasons. I am not very confrontational and
argumentative and I’m not perfect. I like to play it coo most of the
time. Some people think it’s an “Uncle Tom” thing to do (which I
resent a little, but not as much as I used to). She had a bit of a
point, honestly, but it’s the time when you are surprised by a nice
act you didn’t see coming by someone that I find interesting, so it’s
whatever.

I happened to get a table with a black family sitting on it a little
while later. An 8 top I think, kids the whole nine. Went about my
normal time with them and it was all good. Check time and I was happy
to see they left me $20 (on a $100 tab). Now 20% is approaching
generous and I was appreciative for 1) the money and for, more
importantly 2) the moral justification. I went to the server in which
I could have earlier told her about herself and calmly pointed to the
check and the credit card tip and simply said “Black people”.

That felt good

- Corey

Check it out here and don’t forget to join! They really have everything you could imagine, enjoy!

http://waiterstoday.com/

Image via Wikipedia

I’ll never forget this 4 top i was waiting on at a steakhouse i once

worked for. They ALL ordered steaks….steaks with salads and loaded

baked potatoes…the whole nine yards. I’m chatting it up with them,

we’re all laughing, having a great time. I’m so confident i’m getting

a great tip. Check time comes. I put the check down and give them a

few minutes. I go back and they hand me their money, telling me to

“keep the change”. I’m walking away…anxious to count and see what my

“awesome tip” is going to be. Well, the check was about 60 dollars.

And my tip….wait for it…wait for it…..a WHOPPING THREE DOLLARS.

I’m fuming…i’m furious…i’ve HAD IT!!! Now this is so out of

character for me but i can’t hold back…..i walk back to the

table…they are still sitting there. I put the 3 dollars on the table

and tell them….”Here’s your change.” They say, “No, that was for

you.” I look at them and inform them…”If you can’t afford to tip

your server, you shouldn’t come out to eat.” Mouths are hanging open

now…one of the women…this fat one…says “Well, not everyone can

afford to tip.” and i say…”"Then you shouldn’t come out to eat.” I

walk away. One of the men at the table gets up to obviously find a

manager. In the end i got written up but you know what? I signed the

write up happily. It was soooo worth it. I’ve never regretted that

moment i stood up for myself and countless other servers who are

constantly screwed by people who don’t respect what we do….all for

THEIR benefit! Why is there not a labor union for servers????

- VJ

I have recently turned 24, I’ve gone to university for a couple
years, worked my ass off to get my diploma, and I make more money with
my tips than I would working fulltime as a legal assistant (what i
studied) at the lawfirms in my small town. ITS HORSE-CRAP.

Im still looking for a career job and in the meantime Im still working
at the irish pub ive been at for years. SO, with that said, I ran into
my ex boyfriend that I dated my senior year of highschool and whom
broke my heart.

Here are following snippets of the conversation I had with my ex whom
I will kindly refer to as *DICK NIPPLES

D.N. : “Oh hey… I didn’t know you worked here! Don’t worry,
I’ll give you a nice TIP” *cue the chortling from his
comrades.

*I look over at his followers* “You hear that? He wants to give YOU
just the tip”

Me-1 Dick Nipples -0

:::::

D.N. “What did I do to deserve this behaviour?”

Me: The real question is, what DIDNT you do to deserve this
behaviour?”

Me – 2 Dick Nipples – 0

I hoped that Dick Nipples got the message that I was less than
thrilled that he was stuck sitting in my section that happened to be
one of the only available tables at this pub on a busy Saturday night.
Dick nipples tried to diffuse the situation by behaving.

D.N. “ Hmm.. I don’t know what to order? Can you help me?”

Me: “…you are ordering pub food, you’ve been here plenty of
times and you know it all tastes like crap. Pick the thing that tastes
the least like crap. “

D.N. “Can you come back in a few minutes?”

Me: “really? You are ordering from a list of 5 appetizers. You’re
not shopping for car insurance. Just pick
one.”

Me-3 D.N. – Still Zero.

:::::

Dip shit friend: “daaaaanng mamacita. I like a waitress with
attitude”

Me: “ did your mama really teach you to treat people in the service
industry like that?”

Dipshit friend: “Don’t drag my momma into this!”

Dipshit friend #2 “AAAA SHIT SON! SHES TALKING BOUT YO MOMMA!
HAHAHA”

:::::

The worst part about all of this, is that Dick Nipples still doesn’t
get that as much as I tried to make him feel unwelcomed, he has taken
it as sexy banter, and instead of shooing away, he seems to “stop by
COINCIDENTALLY every Saturday night I work”

….Some People.

- Lizzie

Image by prawnpie via Flickr

Table 12. This extravagant old lady (let’s call her Betty), came in at
6pm, told me her two friends will be joining her. She also pointed to
the other seats and said, “Since there will be three of us you’ll need
to bring three separate checks.” It’s at this point I get to say
something I love to say, “We don’t do separate checks” followed by the
obligatory, “But I can take separate payments.” This boggles her mind
for a moment and then she agrees that it’s fine. The one other shows
up (let’s call her Sue) and informs us that their other friend would
be there in 45 minutes. So they ordered a bottle of wine, and some
appetizers and ask for bread. Before I get away from the table, Betty
pulls me back, “when you bring the dippy I don’t want the vinegar,”
she said to me, “do you want the vinegar in your dippy?” she asked
Sue. “What’s that?” Sue asked me. I told her it was oil and balsamic
vinegar. She said it was fine. I came back with the “dippy” for Betty
but she looks disappointed, and says to me, “oh it’s just oil? where
are all the herbs and things?” I told her that’s all we serve, but I
would bring her some red pepper flakes if she wanted to spice it up.
So she does. Meanwhile, Sue is fine with her oil and balsamic “dippy”.

I ask the ladies if they were going to the show across the street
tonight. “What’s going on across the street?” Betty asks. I tell her
and Sue that Blondie (Debbie Harry) is playing across the street
tonight. A show. Sue asks Betty who Blondie is, and Betty responds
with “Well…she’s like Madonna or Lady GaGa or something, but not
like that.” Betty wasn’t sure what she was talking about and so she
turns the discussion over to me. And I say “Yeah, she was really big
in the 80′s”. Not a clue. Neither of them had ANY clue about what I
was talking about, who Blondie was or what she did. I couldn’t believe
it! I mean, first of all I could have sworn Betty was a fan, she was
decked out in rhinestones and had big hair, and when she pulled out
her reading glasses, even THEY had rhinestones lining them! If this
woman didn’t know who Blondie was, I was surprised. But neither of
them knew a lick of what I was talking about. Amazing. So I walk away
and let them ponder the great wonder of Blondie.

I come back a little while later, after they have indulged in their
mussels and fritto misto (a mixture of friend everything), and Betty
says to me, “the mussels were good but that tomato sauce they were
in…” she makes a face that depicts disgust, “mussels are better in a
white wine with garlic, lots of garlic” she informs me. “Oh,” I say,
“I’ll be sure to tell the chef” and by that I meant I’ll be sure to
tell the chef that you are some kind of lunatic that can’t appreciate
different styles of food or good 80′s chick rock. She continued to
elaborate, “these mussels were great, but the tomato sauce was like
eating Campbell’s Tomato Soup! They really need to change that or have
an option to have white wine and garlic….like Carraba’s” She
finished up her rant with suggesting we be more like a national chain
italian restaurant. I had to walk away after that comment, otherwise I
might have just made a face that suggested I felt otherwise. And you
know how my facial expressions are; they’re like celebrity guests on
SNL, always popping up when you least expect them and without warning.
So I walked away and let them go about their chatting.

TWO HOURS LATER their friend, Mary, finally shows up! They’re already
on their second bottle of vino. I grab Mary a menu and finally they
decide to order. Betty wants spaghetti and meatballs “al dente” she
stresses in an over the top way, mocking Italian. The other two ladies
decide to split a pizza. When their food comes up, I was busy, so
Nicole, the manager, runs it. She puts the spaghetti down in front of
Betty, and Betty gawks at it. “That portion is too small! There is not
enough spaghetti!”. Never have I ever heard anyone over the age of 65
get angry because there wasn’t ENOUGH food. Usually it’s the other way
around. So Nicole, being the nice sweet manager that she is, goes back
to the kitchen and asks Chef for more pasta. Chef, being the clever
sarcastic guy that he is, drops two pre-portioned bagfuls of pasta
into the boiling water, with a smirk. Chef and I think a like. You
want more spaghetti, you’re getting more spaghetti! So Nicole brings
the heaping bowl of pasta out to her and she answers with something
like, “that’s more like it!” and as Nicole is walking away she says to
her friends, “I’m just going to take it all home anyway.”

About a half hour later, the bowl of pasta still looks untouched. I go
to check on them and Betty asks me to box up her pasta. In true form,
I couldn’t let this whole pasta thing to go rest that easily, so I
asked, “Was everything okay? It looks like you hardly touched your
pasta, I hope it tasted okay” and she shot back, “Just box it up, take
it and box it” as she shoved the five pound bowl of pasta at my face.
So I boxed it, poured them the rest of their wine and continued to
check back on Sue and Mary who were eating their Pizza like it was the
last pizza on earth and they have to save each bite. Finally when it
seemed that the last two pieces were going uneaten i asked if Mary
wanted a box, to which she shooed me off with the simple flick of her
left wrist in my direction, not even looking away from her
conversation with Sue. So I let them sit…and sit…and sit. Which
they were fine with. I wasn’t bothering them, they weren’t bothering
me. We were both satisfying each other’s need for solace. Until,
finally, it was 9:45. They had been there since 6pm. We were getting
ready to close. Mary had finally succeeded from the pizza and asked me
to box it. I shoved it in the smallest box I could and returned with
their check. They threw three credit cards in and asked me to split it
three ways. Not a problem. I return with their slips and send them on
their way. They continued to sit there for another 45 minutes, until
finally, around 10:30, they left. As they were giving their hugs to
each other, I hear Mary compliment Betty on her rhinestones. “OH I
love my bling. I’ve got to have bling.” every other word she used to
describe her style was bling. Bling. Bling. Really, Betty? All this
time you were all Bling and no Blondie. Interesting.

- Elizabeth

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It was a really busy Sunday afternoon, Sunday’s are always our busiest
day of the week because it’s when big families come out for a
traditional Sunday roast.
At around 1pm (our rush is from 1-3) a mother and her daughter enter
the restaurant and the host tells me she has seated them in my
section. As I approach their table to take their drinks order they
immediately look me up and down, and I can already tell that both them
and the sticks up their asses are going to drive me insane. They ask
me for clean menus because theirs are sticky (already annoying) and
they order a large bottle of sparkling water. When I come back with
their drinks and to take their food order they question me on
basically every single item on the menu ‘are the nuts on the veal
special salted’ of course I did not know the answer to this, so when I
replied ‘I’m not sure, let me quickly run into the kitchen and ask the
chef for you’ she gave me a look like I’d just slapped her in the face
and said ‘well, you are the waitress, it’s your job to know what’s on
the menu’ ‘I apologized and quickly ran into the kitchen before I did
slap her in the face. When I returned and informed her that the nuts
were salted, she grimaced and asked ‘do you have anything gluten free’
and then it was ‘are the peppers in the salad green or red’ who
fu**ing cares!? And when they finally decide to order 2 salads they
ask for no cheese, no dressing and no croutons. So, they basically
ordered two bowls of lettuce. As it is the busiest day of the week, I
inform them the food will be about 30 minutes because we have a lot of
orders in at the moment, they both look unimpressed but don’t voice
their opinions, so I take that as my cue to quickly escape before they
get the chance. When their food arrives the mother turns to me with a
look so patronizing it makes me want to rip her eyelids off. ‘Excuse
me, but you told us the food would be 30 minutes, we’ve been waiting
35, I think this is very unacceptable’. I apologize for the wait and
ask them if there is anything else I can do for them, they say no and
turn to pick at their ‘meals’. By this point, I was completely
slammed, all my tables were taken and I was rushed off my feet trying
to get round to everybody, when my manager calls me over. ‘I just had
a phone call from one of your tables, they said that they have been
waiting 10 minutes for someone to take their plates away and that they
want to order desserts’ I knew straight away who it was. I was in
complete shock, I mean for one, they wanted dessert after they had
eaten a lettuce leaf for their lunch, but for someone to actually ring
the restaurant to complain to the manager, while they are still
eating. I mean, come on, it’s outrageous! And they could see how busy
I was, but nevertheless I strode over, a big smile plastered on my
face, ready to take their dessert order, I picked up their empty bowls
and apologized for taking ‘so long’ to get round to them, and asked
them what desserts they would like. They asked me what the crumble
was, and I replied ‘It’s pear and cherry filling with a chocolate
topping’ the mother looked at me like I was batsh*t crazy and said
‘chocolate topping?’ and I said ‘yes’ trying hard not to rip her hair
out. ‘But I don’t understand, crumble is meant to have a crumble
topping, chocolate is not a topping for a crumble’, treating me as
though I was the stupidest person she had ever encountered, so I
smiled sweetly and did the exact same thing back ‘well ma’am, this is
a crumble topping, it’s just chocolate flavored, it’s a chocolate
crumble topping, do you understand now?’ the fake smile, starting to
hurt my cheeks. She replied ‘well, not really, can I please have the
crumble with a regular topping, thank you.’ I gritted my teeth, having
had quite enough of her bitchy, snooty attitude. ‘I’m sorry ma’am, but
the crumbles were made this morning with the chocolate topping, it’s
the only topping we have, would you like another dessert instead?’ She
stared me up and down and her daughter cut in ‘did your manager send
you over?’ ‘yes’ i replied. ‘Because you know we’ve been waiting 20
minutes for someone to take our dessert order, it’s not the service we
expect’ I turned and looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’m very sorry
that you feel that way, but as you may have noticed, I have been
extremely busy, and have been trying to get to everyone in turn, I can
only do one thing at a time, and my manager informed me you were
waiting for 10 minutes, not 20. Which is the usual amount of time
people like to wait after they have finished their food before they
order desserts, so I am just trying to do my job, the way I have been
trained to do it.’ The daughter went bright red and looked to her
mother for support, who was clearly infuriated, but as I was right and
I had not said it with an ounce of rudeness, there was not much she
could do. She asked for the manager and I smiled and sweetly replied
‘of course’. After they had left my manager walked up to me and said
‘well that woman was a fu**ing nightmare, thank you for not screaming
at her, because I think I would have’ What can you do? The customer is
always right. Well, actually the customer is usually just an as*hole!

- I Hate Pretentious People

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I work in a fantastic pizza restaurant as both a host and a server.
(It’s great- amazing bosses, amazing coworkers, and they feed us all
the time.)

I hosted for two years before starting to serve, but I loved it so
much I still host on Friday nights. These are some things I see all
the time- I just can’t believe how much some people don’t understand
how restaurants work.

A party of 14 will walk in at the busiest part of dinner, without
calling ahead or making a reservation, and are shocked and demand to
speak to a manager when I tell them there will be an hour and a half
wait. (And the front of the restaurant and the waiting area is TEEMING
with other people waiting.) Folks, you’re not the only people in the
area who want to eat here tonight. Learn to use a phone, even if you
only call half an hour away.

Our seating list is written on a white board on the wall next to the
host stand, and occasionally I have people stand and watch it like a
hawk. My favorite was when I erased the list to rewrite it neatly, and
a woman immediately ran up and asked if this meant I had taken her
name off the list.

We only do reservations for parties of ten or more, but we have call
ahead seating- and I train every host to make sure they are VERY clear
a call ahead party will still have to wait for a table when they
arrive. However, at least twice a night, I’ll get a “what do you mean
we have to wait 20 minutes? I have a reservation!” No, no you don’t.
Go sit down. The party behind you who didn’t call is waiting an hour,
stop complaining.

The classic “you know you have open tables, right? I can just bring
myself over…” Oh, you mean there’s open tables? Right there? I
probably don’t have a good reason for not saving them, like a
reservation, or a lack of server, or that I’m about to add it onto
another table for a big party…you better go sit down.

We write down the time people walk in and the wait time we tell them,
as well as tell the people what time it is when we take their name.
Once, I had a woman *insist* she walked in a full twenty minutes ahead
of the time she actually walked in, and that she was over her wait.
She was so furious we ended up getting her in faster- but I can’t
believe some people can be so infuriating.

My favorite story, and the one I tell to all the trainees, happened to
a fellow host one Sunday night. It was starting to slow down, and an
elderly gentleman (who had been quite nice to us earlier in the
evening) exited the bathroom, which is across from the host stand. He
walked over to us, put his hand on my coworker’s shoulder, and said,
“There’s no soap in the men’s room.” He even slid his hand down her
arm as he walked away. She, of course, freaked out and ran to scrub
her arm as I died laughing, and had one of the busboys go change the
soap before anyone else went in there.

I had a customer tell me once, “Everyone who wants to eat at a
restaurant should have to work in one for a week,” and I only wish it
was reality. Still, I love my job, and even on nights where my whole
body hurts and and I can’t wait to go home, I still leave with a smile
on my face.

- Caitlin