Something Requisitely Witty and Urbane

The Waiter Rule

Office Depot CEO Steve Odland remembers like it was yesterday working in an upscale French restaurant in Denver.

The purple sorbet in cut glass he was serving tumbled onto the expensive white gown of an obviously rich and important woman. "I watched in slow motion ruining her dress for the evening," Odland says. "I thought I would be shot on sight."

Thirty years have passed, but Odland can't get the stain out of his mind, nor the woman's kind reaction. She was startled, regained composure and, in a reassuring voice, told the teenage Odland, "It's OK. It wasn't your fault." When she left the restaurant, she also left the future Fortune 500 CEO with a life lesson: You can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she treats the waiter.

This is from a USA Today article which is like manna from heaven for upscale restaurant waiters like myself.

It's funny, because for all table-waiting horror stories I have, the majority of the customers I wait on are genuinely nice, so much so that when you get the occasional rude table it sticks out like a sore thumb.

An interesting fluff article and well worth a read.

"...and I'm sure the light will hurt my eyes."

So, I mentioned it a few weeks back, but my time managing the restaurant comes to a close today.

It is kind of strange, sitting here in the office with literally no projects to do, no responsibilities at all but to answer the phones and wait until the end of the night.

I've kind of had senioritis about the whole thing for a month now, basically since I made the decision, and this day couldn't come quickly enough.

And school starts in a few weeks.  For the first time since I first dropped out of college, I'm excited about going back. 

Classy Classiness and Class

A couple of short restaurant stories, since it's been a while.

Monday, a table of five came in.  They were spending money at the bar, running up a $400 dollar tab before they even sat down for dinner.  Everyone in the party was very nice except for one man, obviously the host of the party, who was condescending at every turn.

They placed their dinner order with the bartender, then went to their table.  The hostess, who is new to the restaurant and 16 years old, sat them at their table and placed menus in front of them.  The man grabbed her arm and said, "Do you even know what you are doing? We've already ordered.  I think you are confused."  She apologized, though she'd done nothing wrong, picked up the menus and left.

The waiter took over the table, and was met with a similar condescension.  He's a fairly even-tempered personality, however, and he was able to blow it off without too much of a fuss.  As the table finished up, and people's plates were empty, he began taking them off the table as he is supposed to.

The man grabs him by the arm, and says, "What are you doing? You don't clear plates until every one at the table is done? How long have you had this job? Did you even finish high school?"  The waiter apologized and walked away, then told me and one of the other managers about it.

In retrospect, it was a good thing that this particular waiter had that table.  There are any number of other waiters, good waiters normally, who would have shot back with something they shouldn't have said.  I might be included in that group... it's hard to say.

After dinner, they moved back to the bar.  Several other members of the party made it a point to compliment the waiter, and tell him how great everything had been.

When it was all said and done, they ran up a $780 dollar tab.  When the man paid, he rounded it up to $800.

A $20 tip on and $800 dollar tab.  What. A. Douche.

The bartender and the waiter were at the point of laughing about it, but the other manager and I weren't.  We were pissed.  The other manager called our owner to ask some advice, and then went down to talk to the man, asking if something was wrong with the service.

Luckily, we found that, while we'd been making phone calls, one of the other members of the party went up to the bartender to ask how much he'd tipped.  She then proceeded to take the tab down to the man, hit him on the back of the head and say, "You know better than that," embarrassing him in front of his entire group.  He made it a $120 dollar tip, which isn't great, but still acceptable, considering how much wine they'd ordered.

Sometimes pricks get their due.

---------

Yesterday, as the shift was ending and we were waiting on a couple of tables to leave, one of the waitresses I work with and I were joking around.  She did a little dance at one point, acting like she was a Supreme's like back up singer.

At that moment, a male guest walked by, followed by a few other of his friends.  The waitress was embarrassed and stopped.  We laughed a little bit about it, and then one of the men said, "I've got a $100 dollar bill, if you keep that up," and they started walking away.

"Classy," I said.  The man turned around and looked at me, I looked back, blankly, and then he walked on.

"I hate it when people have no respect for women," I said to the waitress.  She gave me a big hug.  I was a hero for the rest of the night.

You Look Like The Kind of Guy...

So, there I am, nearing the end of a busy shift.  It's gone well, I've made money, and soon it will be over.  All's right with the world.

One of my tables, a mid-thirties couple,  was nearing the end of their evening as well.  They asked to see a dessert menu, and I, dutifully as always, got it for them.

What follows is, pretty much, verbatim what occurred next:

Me: Here you are, folks.  In addition to the items we have on our menu, we also have a Key Lime Pie with a fresh raspberry coulis.

Man at the table: Do you have any suggestions? I mean, you look like the kind of guy who's had a few desserts in his day.

Me: (blink) Well... I... uh... appreciate that sir.  The chocolate mousse is probably my favorite.  Let me know if you have any other questions.

Now, what follows is, pretty much, verbatim what went through my head:

Me: Motherfucker! We just met.

Let's be clear, I'm not fat.  I could stand to lose 15 pounds or so, but I'm by no means fat. 

There's nothing like the restaurant business to restore your faith in the basic decency of humanity.

They had the chocolate mousse, incidentally, and they tipped 10%.  Insulting and cheap.

Every Once in a While

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a while you get one of those tables that you just click with.  There is a connection there from the beginning and, though you know you can do no wrong at the table, it doesn't matter because you actually WANT to wait on them.  I can't explain how it happens, or how you know, it's just... there.

Last night, at about 10 minutes until closing, I got one of those tables.  Now, normally it is a bummer to get a table that late.  Typically, a table that walks in that late consists of people who like to prove how much power they have to keep you there late, like they kind of get off on it.  Last night, it wasn't as big a deal, because I had a couple of other tables which were staying late, so it really didn't matter.  These two ladies walked in, and were very gracious when I greeted them.  "Thank you for seating us so late," said the dark-haired lady, "I really appreciate it."

Already starting off with a nice tone, which is refreshing.

They asked me to tell them about the menu, which is another kind of annoying thing, normally.  Every waiter has their well-rehearsed spiel for this question, but it takes a little time to cover enough items to satisfy the customer, so it isn't normally your favorite thing to do.  These ladies were acting so sweet about it, however, that not only did I give my spiel and answer some questions, but we also spent some time with the wine list and picked a nice bottle of wine for them.

As the meal progressed, I let them talk, as they were obviously in deep conversation.  I checked on them every once in a while, and they never acted annoyed with my presence (which people often will do, despite the fact that taking care of the table is your job), stopping to chat with me every time I came by.  There was just an easy quality about the whole experience.

Towards the end, the lighter-haired lady thanked me again, and said she's just flown in from Houston and was starving, and wanted to take her friend out to dinner because she was getting a divorce.  This obviously embarrassed her friend (and it's kind of an awkward position for a waiter to be in, because there is no good way to respond to it).  "Oh, well, I'm really sorry to hear that," I said, but something in the tone of my voice was just right.  You know how when you say something in a certain tone that you know you'll never really be able to duplicate? That's what happened.  It was pitch-perfect and it kept things flowing.

They were the last table in the restaurant, and as they started to leave, the light-haired lady went to the restroom, while her friend told her she'd meet her outside, and went to get the car.  I walked the soon-to-be divorcee to the door to open it for her, and she expressed her appreciation for the entire night.  I put my hand on her back as I led her to the door, which was a really unusual thing for me to do (in generally, the most physical contact I'll ever make with a guest is a light touch on their shoulder if I'm trying to get their attention, or maybe a little slap on the back when a good ole boy tells a joke).  We were at the front door by this time, and she just kinda leaned into me, like she needed a hug, and started to tear up a little bit.  "This was exactly what I needed tonight," she said.  I told her I was happy they'd come in and glad they'd enjoyed everything. She left and went to her car.

A few minutes later, the other lady in the bathroom came out and I opened the door for her as well.  "Thanks again.  You've been so pleasant, and the food was wonderful.  We'll definitely be coming back," she said.  I thanked her again and then I said, "... and tell your friend I said good luck."

"Oh, she's my daughter!" she said, surprised.  I was surprised too, as I would have never figured that she was old enough to have a daughter the soon-to-be divorcee's age.  "But, she's my friend too," she said, and then closed walked out the door.

That was when I realized that the daughter's impending divorce was a very new development, and she was so torn up that her mom flew in from Houston on the spur of the moment to be with her daughter. This night had ended up being a really special one for them.  It's nice knowing that, for whatever little part I was there for, I was able to help them have that.

Waiter Axioms

Waiter Rant has a great post today of some simple truths about being a waiter.  Go read them all, but here are some of my favorites:

If the customer says “You’re the best waiter I’ve ever had” – your tip is sure to be shit.

Anyone who wants a table a half hour before closing is an asshole.

Customers can’t tell the difference between Absolut and Grey Goose.

A customer who smells the cork is an amateur.

Serve Decaf – to everybody.

Coke head waiters work their entire shift. The Potheads always want to leave early. The Crackheads bolt as soon as they get their first cash tip.

Some really good stuff.

They all look alike to me

It's the worst kind of group to wait on.

They are investment bankers, the definition of WASPs, and they can put Gordon Gekko to shame with their attitudes towards their waiters, who should know better than to expect to be treated with any sort of basic human decency.

There was one member of their ilk, last night, who shall receive the majority of my wrath.  At some point in the night someone called him "Ass-lip."  I'm not sure how it happened, but I am more than happy to call him that for the duration of this post.

Asslip is the first to arrive, and I walked up to him to discuss any specifics that he'd like us to attend to for the dinner.  I barely have a chance to say hello and introduce myself when he interrupts, "I've been in the service industry, and I don't want you just pouring off wine simply so you can open the next bottle and charge me for it.  You won't take advantage of me, today, do you understand me?"

What... a... tool.

Perhaps he was a dishonest waiter, which I can only imagine is an indication of just how honest an investment banker he is, but the whole reason I approached him was to find out how he wanted to handle the wine/alcohol situation.  Knowing that many in attendance will try to take advantage of the person who is paying for their dinner at a nice restaurant, at my restaurant we ALWAYS take our cue from the host of the party as to how relaxed or stringent they want us to be with alcohol.

Anyway, his cocky, combative attitude right off the bat certainly set the tone for us.  A tip to all of you: The degree to which a waiter will want to go out of his way to make sure that your party is a success is directly proportional to the degree of kindness you show them from the outset.

One of the managers went up to him, as is customary, to introduce himself and let him know that if he needed anything that he only had to ask, only to find him trying to set up his projector no only in the middle of where the servers would have to walk, but where there was no electrical outlet.  The manager explained where the projector would have to go.

"That's not going to work for me," said Asslip.

"I'm sorry sir, but it's the only place we can put a projector.  I spoke with someone on the phone about this a couple of weeks ago, and we had an agreement as to how the room would be set up," replied my manager.

"Oh, really? You had an agreement? Do you have something in writing?"

What... a... douchebag.

The manager held his ground, and eventually common sense and the pure physical constraints of the building prevailed, and the projector and screen were set up precisely where we told him it would have to be in the first place.  When I returned, in an infantile display, he'd take then electric cords and strung them up about 3 feet in the air, blocking all ability for the waiters to walk around the table to serve it.  Knowing that the chances of the full party showing up (because they rarely do, and besides... who'd wanna spend 3 hours with Asslip?), and that the chances were that no one would be sitting near the cords, I ignored it.

Though there were some genuinely pleasant people in the group, it turns out that many of them had the same demeanor as Asslip.  These were the kinds of people who had conversations like, "Oh, don't get me wrong... I love salads," and other subjects equally as vapid. 

At one point, one of the investment bankers (I can't remember which one, because at some point all investment bankers look alike to me) came up to me saying he couldn't drink the red wine that Asslip had selected unless we put some 7-Up in it.

Yeah, it was that kind of night.

When it was all said and done, we made decent money, and I got to go home with a pride in my heart knowing that, regardless of how much money these guys make (although it wouldn't surprise me if I make the same amount as some of them... entry-level assholes), I have more class and sophistication than they can ever hope to enjoy.

At least I can drink red wine without turning it into Kool-Aid.

Mother's Day Madness!

There's a real "chicken or egg" situation that arises in the restaurant business when Mother's Day rolls around.  At my place, we are only serve dinner, so lunches are never an issue.  On Mother's Day we make an exception, however, and open up at 11:30 to serve the mothers and their families.  Unfortunately, this tends to bring out, (how do I say this?), a clientele that is less inclined to spend the kind of money that a fine-dining steakhouse typically caters to.  The problem is, there are a LOT of them, and so the issue becomes do you staff up for Mother's Day, diluting the already small amount of money that is coming in the door between more servers, or do you run with less servers so they can make at least a decent amount of money but will subsequently be put through "The Ass Whipping to End All Ass Whippings?"

Our restaurant chose the latter, and TAWTEAAW ensued.

A friend that I work with and I, a couple of summers ago, decided to take on a day job at a small cafe which is inside a monster sized retail furniture complex (it really is more than just one store), and the place was so poorly run, with no order -- the kind of place where people seat themselves and demand service withing 5 seconds of sitting down, resulting in the distinct possibility of your six table station getting completely sat in a 2 minute period -- and the weakest serving staff I've ever seen.  For about three hours you could count on sweating buckets and walking past 3 tables at a time trying earnestly to get your attention while you act like you can't see them.

And anyone who has ever waited tables knows about "Waiter Dreams."  They normally come after hectic shifts when you were in the weeds so high that you aren't all that unsure that you won't get lost in them.  The dreams leave you almost as exhausted as your shift because you spent the whole time waiting on demanding customers while you were trying to get your beauty rest.  Waiter Dreams are brutal.

Well, anyway.  Today's Mother's Day shift was as close to a cross between a horrible Waiter Dream and working at that small cafe as I've seen in my restaurant.  I'm pretty sure I gave the worst service I've ever given to one of my tables because I just... couldn't... get... to... them. 

Of course, there were other contributing factors besides just high volume.  Our restaurant is the kind of place where 90% of all beverages that are ordered are from the bar.  Iced teas and sodas aren't that big a player... except when everyone who is walking in the door is just coming from church and sitting at a table with their mother.  For this one shift we find ourselves running out of glassware, having to steal it from tables that aren't sat.  You find yourself in the strange situation of trying to beat other servers to a glass, like two people standing across the room who see the One Ring of Power on the floor.  You look at each other, look at the glass, and then take of running, jockeying, pushing... anything you can do to get that glass before the other person.

It was a major league beating.  But it is one day out of the year, and you get passed it.  I'm just glad it will be 365 days before I have to do it again.

Kitchen Duty...

I'm doing my kitchen training for the next couple of days.  I'm really kind of excited about it, but it will take up my whole day, so I won't be able to really write until the evenings after about 10:00 PM today and tomorrow.

So, just remember when you go out to eat that, even at nice restaurants, it might be a guy who's own personal kitchen looks like this that is making your food.

Some random notes from the restaurant

Some quick hits from today at work:

• The restaurant was basically shut down today because there was a horrible accident at the intersection next to us and they had to Care-Flight a person out, landing the helicopter on the road to our restaurant. Which leads me to...
• Motorcycles are scary, scary death machines... Which leads me to...
• You know an accident is bad when they have to Care-Flight someone to Parkland hospital despite the fact that there is a hospital across the street.
• Sometimes, old people will make your day.  There was a couple tonight that came in and we talked for what had to be an hour.  They were the sweetest people ever, and it made the night go by quickly.
• It is strange managing people you've worked with or your friends.
• Me to a customer who's food came out undercooked and who'd had a bad experience, apparently, once before: "Well, I'm sorry sir... I truly am.  I hope you know from our reputation that this certainly isn't typical for us."  Customer: "Well, excuse me mister, but it is typical for us. Now get back there and do it right, or we aren't coming back." What I wanted to say: "I'm pretty sure you aren't coming back anyway, so I'm not sure that I'm inclined to rush things to a solution at this moment, sir." What I actually said: "I'll be right back..."
• I never realized how annoying it is when, on slow shifts, all the servers come up to you asking you if they can leave early, and I take this time to apologize to the following: Mark, Steve, Steve, Bil, John, Denise, Brian, Tony, Terry and Clark.  I was an idiot.
• Despite the above, I really do love managing...

So, how was your weekend?