Waiter Story Favorites
Here is a selection of favorite stories from the restaurant world. There are plenty more on the home page and in the archives. We currently have over 300 on the site submitted by viewers like you! Help us keep it growing!!
Where The Bar At?
So this guy comes into my restaurant and sits at the bar. He then turns to me and says, “Do you guys have a bar here?”
The Time Traveler’s Wife
It’s a slow day at work. I get sat and immediately approach the table. It is a nice, polite elderly couple, or so I think. After promptly returning with the drink order I just received (2 waters) I take their food order. I go straight to the computer and input the order for their food. Roughly 5 minutes pass and the man hollers at me as I am passing by, “Is our food coming up some time today?” I politely respond with, “sir, I sent your order, they are cooking it, it should be coming up shortly.” and I walk away. 3 minutes after that a coworker of mine comes up to me and tells me that he was stopped by the same table complaining that his food has taken 30 minutes. For those of you not keeping track at home…it has been 8. 8 whole minutes. I go back to the table and this old dick asks why the food is taking 30 minutes. ”sir, your food has not taken 30 minutes. They do have to cook the food. I’ll go check on it righ…” ”IT’S TAKEN WAY TOO LONG!! DO THEY NEED SOME HELP?!” I walk away. Upon entry to the back zone I see that his food is up. I check the time the order was sent, and the time that it is now. Their food took 12 minutes, the average time it takes for food to come up in my restaurant. I make a mental note of this detail. I drop the food off at the table and I am greeted this time with “Why did this take 30 minutes to cook?” ”Sir, your food took 12 minutes to cook. I checked the time on the ticket. It has only been 12 minutes.” 12 MINUTES?! I’VE BEEN SITTING HERE FOR 20!!” I take a deep breath and ask “sir, if you have only been sitting here for 20 minutes, how could it possibly have taken 30 minutes to cook?” His wife at this time tries to suppress her laughter (poorly) and the man stares at me for about 10 seconds and says…”STOP GIVING ME PROBLEMS AND GO GET ME KETCHUP!” I walk away victorious.
I’m slammed. Not only am I slammed, but I am dying to slam the bathroom. No time, these people need service and I won’t let them down. I clench my cheeks and continue to hobble about my station taking orders and getting drinks. I approach one of my tables, sweat pouring down my face and introduce myself. I turn my head for a brief moment to sneeze…and shit my pants. “Um, be right with you folks.” I levitate to the men’s bathroom, rip open the door, rip off my boxers, and explode. After ferociously raping the toilet I emerge from the stall to see one of the gentlemen from my table standing by the door looking horrified. Needless to say, it was an awkward dinner.
My Girlish Figure
I work at a place that is well know for it’s delicious desserts. I approached my section just as a new table was going down. I look down the aisle and I see a shiny scooter carrying a massive lady toward my section. She shimmys off her throne and squeezes into the banquette where the table is thankfully moveable to accomodate her large stature. I walk up ever bubbly and welcoming as any server knows they need to be upon first interaction, and before I could even get out my full greet she barks, “can we get some bread??!!” When the time comes to order she decides on a very healthy order of chicken, country gravy and biscuits….mmmm heart-stopping. She finishes it all, while having the restraint to not lick the plate, but not without asking for extra gravy, TWO times. I then bring a few dessert menus over and describe a few of our temptations. The beast of a lady immediately shuts me down stating, “I need to keep my girlish figure…it would be just way too much for me to indulge in dessert!” Good luck with that figure lady.
I have been a hostess at a corporate establishment for a few years and a couple weeks ago I encountered my worst customer ever! It was a busy Friday night and the wait was about 1 1/2 hours long. A man came in with his family and asked for a table for 6, I handed him his buzzer and quoted him his wait time 1 hour. A little over 30 min later he came up to me at the desk and demanded to know why a party of 2 who came in after him got seated first. I explained that the wait is generally longer for the higher amount of people he had, we have several more 2-top or 4-top tables that can accommodate 2 people and less booths or tables that accommodate 6. He started getting more and more angry and yelling at me right in front of the whole lobby, I told him I would have the other hostess grab a manager to come and talk to him and asked him to wait. I started back to my job of filling the sections in the computer and calling names, as soon as another party of 2 came up to be seated he started screaming again about how it was unfair we were seating people that came in after him, before he was seated. My manager talked to him and he finally waited patiently until he was called, as I reached out my hand to grab his buzzer, instead of placing it in my hand, he spit in my hand. A grown man spit in my hand over not being seated quickly enough, it was completely ridiculous. Not only did my managers not kick him out, the bought him dessert for his “troubles”. Welcome to a corporate restaurant.
You Sir, Are A Retard
I work in a restaurant where a muffin, and a big one at that, comes with pretty much everything you order. More times than not the patrons ask for a box to take these muffins home. I had a party of two. Both members of the party ordered an entree that included a muffin. Both people finished their meals without touching the muffins and asked for boxes to take them home. Our boxes are your standard flip style styrofoam boxes where you put your left-overs in the bottom and close the top over it. I bring the boxes back to the table and set them down. I then proceed to watch this gentleman put one muffin in the bottom, and another one in the top (keep in mind this is the same box) and try to close the box. I simply stand there and watch this dip shit try to fold the top of the box, which contains a muffin, into the bottom of the box, which also contains a muffin. I was curious to see how long it would take this guy to figure out that this was an impossible task. I stood there for the better part of a minute, staring at the dumbfounded look on his face with my jaw on the floor, before I finally decided to help him out. After putting one muffin in one box, and the other muffin in the second box that I brought to the table, and was in plain sight of view. The retard laughed sheepishly and muttered some bullshit that I wasn’t really listening too. I smile at him and say “oh don’t worry sir, it happens all the time.” I lied. This never happens.
Italians From Mexico
The Italian restaurant that I work at has an open kitchen and customers can see all the cooks really easily. We employ a lot of Hispanic cooks and kitchen workers, as is pretty common in the restaurant industry. One day, this old lady comes in and asks for a table. As I am leading her to the table, we walk by the kitchen. She gets alarmed and says, “are those Mexicans cooking Italian food?” Being a little caught off guard I reply to the lady, “no miss, they are all Italian, they just look very similar to Mexicans.” “Oh good,” she says, “I want my Italian food cooked by real Italians.” “Well you came to the right place.”
I am serving a party of four. The ringleader of this table was an old grey-haired lady who seamed to feel that poking me in the side was an appropriate method for gaining my attention, even if I was talking to the table next to her. This went on throughout the dining experience, and I figured for the sake of my tip I would just not say anything….but some sort of retribution was a must. As I approached the table with the bill I was delighted to find that “the poker” was not paying attention to me. Never being one to let opportunity pass, I quickly poked her to let her know that I had brought the bill. She turns to me and says, “Honey, poking is very rude.” “Yes,” I reply, “and its really annoying too.” You can’t put a price on that.
You Ordered Lasagna, Bitch!
I’m a hostess who serves on occasion. It was a slow Saturday afternoon and so far I had only had about 3 tables total. Great, like I get to do this very often. Next thing you know a few regular customers come in; an elderly couple and their son. Now mind you, they are a big pain in the ass kind of table, but I was next to get sat and at this point I was finding myself a little desperate. How bad could it be?
Anyways, I got them settled with drinks and some bread. Even though I had never actually served them before, they come in so often that I already knew what they were going to order. I found myself surprised when the mom decided she wanted Lasagna, instead of the white wine clams. Even her husband and son said, “Are you sure that’s what you want?” she replied with, “Yes I want to get something different for a change!”
I put in there order, chatted with them for a little bit (even though it probably wouldn’t do any good considering they tip like shit), and check on my one other table of campers (who also tipped like shit).
Finally their food was done, I ran it out to them and the mom looked at me like I was a complete idiot.
“That’s not what I ordered” she said. I said, “Yes it is, you ordered the lasagna, remember?” “No I ordered the clams!” she snapped. Okay, now I remember on an earlier occasion that her husband had said something about her being in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. I thought does she really not remember ordering this like twenty minutes ago or is she just fucking with me?
Both her husband and son looked at her and then looked at me. They both tried to explain to her that she, in fact, ordered the lasagna this time.
“Well I don’t want that, I want clams.” She said. “ooookay, do you want me to box this up for you and I can ring in the clams right now?” I said, trying to fix it. “Yes, yes. Fine.” She said.
Well, by then her husband was pissed. He started yelling at her saying, “NO YOU EAT WHAT YOU ORDERED! I’M NOT PAYING FOR TWO MEALS” and she yelled back with something like, “I’LL ORDER WHAT I WANT, YOU DON’T SPEAK FOR ME!!!” Then to me: “GO PUT IN THE CLAMS!”
I put in the clams; I brought them out, everything seemed all right.
So a few minutes passed and I got a few more tables. I was no longer worrying about my table of pain in the ass regulars. Next thing you know, she calls my name from across the restaurant.
I walked over there, the first thing I noticed is that her clams are all gone, and then I see she is holding up a short, grey strand of hair.
You have got to be kidding me.
“I found this in my clams” she said. I am not in the mood anymore so I simply replied with, “That is your hair.” “No it’s not, it is your hair!!” she said back to me. I have long brown hair; I couldn’t believe she was even trying to argue this!
“I want the clams taken off the bill” she said. “I’ll go get the manager for you.” I said.
The clams were taken off the bill. You can keep your $2.80 tip next time, Bitch.
- Princess Consuela Banana Hammock