Long Friday Serving Rant
It’s around 7pm, I’m training a new server and we decided to tempt fate. We send the other server home. This is always a bold move this early because it’s practically a guarantee that if you send the other person home, especially if you have the hindrance of the trainee acting as a shadow, then you are bound to get busy. And not just busy where you walk a little faster and have difficulty refilling people’s water glasses, but busy where you’ve forgotten your name, at any given moment someone is bound to walk out in anger, and you start wondering if it will ever end. This is the stuff “server dreams” are made of. (NOTE: The terminology server dreams is misleading- I'm acutally referring to the phenomoenon of recurring nightmares, usually involves having more tables than you could ever take care of. This is experienced by every server I have ever met.)
So around the 7’oclock hour I spend a few blissful minutes trying to figure out what my trainee already knows and what I need to teach him when in walks one table, and another, and another. To put this all in perspective, on busy nights we generally have 3-4 table sections. Within about a half hour, the dining room fills up with around 12-13 tables. As a bonus, the trainee was actually helpful. Often it’s a handicap because while you’re trying to not lose your mind, they’re following you around asking how any ice cubes to put into a water glass.
So the dining room’s steadily filling up and every time I turned around there’s another table. This is when you go into triage mode. Get everyone water so it looks like you’re on top of it. Then get everyone’s drink order. People feel better when they know that something’s on the way. Then from that point it’s a careful consideration of multiple factors: who is more likely to get mad first, who is ready to order immediately, and who will be the difficult ones “do you have acidophilus in any of your dishes? I’m allergic.” Generally speaking four people can wait longer than two. My theory is that if there are four , they probably don’t know each other as well and no one wants to be the jerk who's complaining. When there are two, all it takes is one person wondering if anyone is every going to take their order and they’re ready for a witch hunt.
So things are going pretty well so far. There are always stages. The (1) Trickle in, I hope I get a few more tables stage, the (2) This is fun. I’m busy but I’m on top of everything stage, the (3) This is challenging my serving skills but I’m still proud I’m holding it together stage, and the (4) I’m going under- someone throw me a life boat, and make my tables stop yelling ma’am at me across the room stage.
I was just leaving stage three and heading into four, when a table grabs me and says “We’re ready to order.” Music to my ears. This is the goal. To get everyone a drink, and then let them sit until they are absolutely positive they know what they want. This way you can avoid all the questions, and you don’t have to contort your face from impatience to perfect calm while you stand there thinking abut the 50 other things you needed to do 5 minutes ago, and why?- why? Are you talking so slow! So I stop in my tracks, holding a soda for another table, and try to balance it while I attempt to wrangle a piece of paper out of my apron.
But then- “We just have a few questions.” Noooooo, my heart sinks while I feel my stride broken and the rhythm of holding everything together is now gone for the remainder of the night. It’s not that questions are bad, it’s that if I knew in advance that I needed that kind of time at a table I would have worked that into the triage schedule. Instead this lady has just sunken me deep into
Stage 4 with her trickery. I briefly mourn the passing of the perfect timing of the evening thus far, reluctantly let go of my impatience, and ask her how I could help, although it was difficult to concentrate feeling the stares of everyone else wanting attention boring into the back of my head.
She asks about the salad size which I quickly inform her is pretty large. She then goes on to tell me that she just wants a small salad, and can they just give her a little bit. I realize I was a bit hasty in discarding my impatience and I decided to pick it back up. I quickly told her yes, but it would be the same price, at which she was outraged. She insisted so I did what any good server would do, reflected the blame by asking someone else. I ran to Char, asked her if we could do a half portion for a salad, for which she said no, and I returned to the lady and again told her no. She looked at me smugly -and let me interject here, it’s not that I am rude or impatient across the board, but there is a certain breed of person who sometimes finds themselves in our restaurant, and the best I can describe it is that they ooze a sense of entitlement. You get the idea that they have never not had their way, and that for anything to be other than how they want it is an outrage and an injustice. They are the ones that storm out over not getting their chosen table- when they don’t have reservations. They are the type to make you run down the street to another restaurant to get an ingredient you don’t have to make something not on your menu. And then they tip you 12%. I could tell that’s what I was facing as soon as she uttered the words. “Go ask Char.”
Now, when this table came in they asked for Pete (the other owner) and didn’t know who Char was (his wife). So they’re clearly not lifelong friends. I (probably a little too smugly) informed her that that was exactly who I asked, and you could see the rage at not getting her way wash over her face. She snapped “Then go ask her again, she does not realize who we are.” I smiled (through my teeth) and informed Char that this table was now hers to placate. Char got the rest of their order while I struggled to get caught up with everyone else. The night ended well; we managed to hold everything together until it trickled off.
And I will say, while this is a rant, serving is actually often enjoyable in its own right, which is probably why I’ve been doing it for 12 years. There aren’t many opportunities to be challenged so actively and without serious long-term ramifications. I love trying to see how much I can handle, knowing that at worst if I fail someone will have to sit a few minutes too long. It helps me keep perspective too. I get little reminders like last night that things are never as serious as I might think they are. That woman was miserable throughout her entire meal , and from the looks of it her husband wasn't having the time of his life either. What a great reminder to cherish the time you get to spend with those you love, instead of wanting every single detail to be perfect. Maybe the secret is that it is perfect, in its imperfection; perhaps happiness is only a state of mind, and has very little to do with the details.
So around the 7’oclock hour I spend a few blissful minutes trying to figure out what my trainee already knows and what I need to teach him when in walks one table, and another, and another. To put this all in perspective, on busy nights we generally have 3-4 table sections. Within about a half hour, the dining room fills up with around 12-13 tables. As a bonus, the trainee was actually helpful. Often it’s a handicap because while you’re trying to not lose your mind, they’re following you around asking how any ice cubes to put into a water glass.
So the dining room’s steadily filling up and every time I turned around there’s another table. This is when you go into triage mode. Get everyone water so it looks like you’re on top of it. Then get everyone’s drink order. People feel better when they know that something’s on the way. Then from that point it’s a careful consideration of multiple factors: who is more likely to get mad first, who is ready to order immediately, and who will be the difficult ones “do you have acidophilus in any of your dishes? I’m allergic.” Generally speaking four people can wait longer than two. My theory is that if there are four , they probably don’t know each other as well and no one wants to be the jerk who's complaining. When there are two, all it takes is one person wondering if anyone is every going to take their order and they’re ready for a witch hunt.
So things are going pretty well so far. There are always stages. The (1) Trickle in, I hope I get a few more tables stage, the (2) This is fun. I’m busy but I’m on top of everything stage, the (3) This is challenging my serving skills but I’m still proud I’m holding it together stage, and the (4) I’m going under- someone throw me a life boat, and make my tables stop yelling ma’am at me across the room stage.
I was just leaving stage three and heading into four, when a table grabs me and says “We’re ready to order.” Music to my ears. This is the goal. To get everyone a drink, and then let them sit until they are absolutely positive they know what they want. This way you can avoid all the questions, and you don’t have to contort your face from impatience to perfect calm while you stand there thinking abut the 50 other things you needed to do 5 minutes ago, and why?- why? Are you talking so slow! So I stop in my tracks, holding a soda for another table, and try to balance it while I attempt to wrangle a piece of paper out of my apron.
But then- “We just have a few questions.” Noooooo, my heart sinks while I feel my stride broken and the rhythm of holding everything together is now gone for the remainder of the night. It’s not that questions are bad, it’s that if I knew in advance that I needed that kind of time at a table I would have worked that into the triage schedule. Instead this lady has just sunken me deep into
Stage 4 with her trickery. I briefly mourn the passing of the perfect timing of the evening thus far, reluctantly let go of my impatience, and ask her how I could help, although it was difficult to concentrate feeling the stares of everyone else wanting attention boring into the back of my head.
She asks about the salad size which I quickly inform her is pretty large. She then goes on to tell me that she just wants a small salad, and can they just give her a little bit. I realize I was a bit hasty in discarding my impatience and I decided to pick it back up. I quickly told her yes, but it would be the same price, at which she was outraged. She insisted so I did what any good server would do, reflected the blame by asking someone else. I ran to Char, asked her if we could do a half portion for a salad, for which she said no, and I returned to the lady and again told her no. She looked at me smugly -and let me interject here, it’s not that I am rude or impatient across the board, but there is a certain breed of person who sometimes finds themselves in our restaurant, and the best I can describe it is that they ooze a sense of entitlement. You get the idea that they have never not had their way, and that for anything to be other than how they want it is an outrage and an injustice. They are the ones that storm out over not getting their chosen table- when they don’t have reservations. They are the type to make you run down the street to another restaurant to get an ingredient you don’t have to make something not on your menu. And then they tip you 12%. I could tell that’s what I was facing as soon as she uttered the words. “Go ask Char.”
Now, when this table came in they asked for Pete (the other owner) and didn’t know who Char was (his wife). So they’re clearly not lifelong friends. I (probably a little too smugly) informed her that that was exactly who I asked, and you could see the rage at not getting her way wash over her face. She snapped “Then go ask her again, she does not realize who we are.” I smiled (through my teeth) and informed Char that this table was now hers to placate. Char got the rest of their order while I struggled to get caught up with everyone else. The night ended well; we managed to hold everything together until it trickled off.
And I will say, while this is a rant, serving is actually often enjoyable in its own right, which is probably why I’ve been doing it for 12 years. There aren’t many opportunities to be challenged so actively and without serious long-term ramifications. I love trying to see how much I can handle, knowing that at worst if I fail someone will have to sit a few minutes too long. It helps me keep perspective too. I get little reminders like last night that things are never as serious as I might think they are. That woman was miserable throughout her entire meal , and from the looks of it her husband wasn't having the time of his life either. What a great reminder to cherish the time you get to spend with those you love, instead of wanting every single detail to be perfect. Maybe the secret is that it is perfect, in its imperfection; perhaps happiness is only a state of mind, and has very little to do with the details.
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