I'm not talking about the kind where you sleep in tents outside, make smores, and sing by the campfire either. No, here, I'm talking about the kind of "campers" who "camp" in people's booths in restaraunts.
Starbucks. Sertinos. Rao's Bakery. Your own living room. These are all places that were created for relaxing and talking for a long period of time. Because sometimes, we just want to sit and relax, lose track of time and just talk. And this is all fine. Here's the thing though.
That's not what restaraunts are for. Let me clarify that a bit...restaraunts are certainly for visiting with friends and family and having a good time. . . but once you pay your bill, and your table is completely empty of everything except the glass in front of you, it's time to leave. By staying, especially on a very busy night, you are costing someone else money.
Friday night I had the standard three table section. For a long time, however, I only had a two table section. Why? Because two of my three tables paid their bill, and then sat there. In the time that they sat there visiting, long after their bill was paid, I could have had two more tables sit down in their tables who would (I'm assuming) ended up paying me. Because these people chose to "camp" in my section... I lost money.
Here's another thing about camping, the thing that seems to always happen to me.
So I'm cut. For those of you who don't know restaraunt lingo (in which this post is mainly directed towards), this means that I'm not going to be seated with anymore tables. As soon as the tables that I have pay out and leave, I'm done for the night and can go home, relax, soak my feet, and be with the one I love.
Key words here: As soon as the tables that I have pay out and leave. But it always figures, the last table I have to get rid of before I get to go home...WON'T GO HOME. They pay out and then they sit there without a care in the world, while I am stuck for possibly another hour at the job I have been at all night. Not cool.
I'm not trying to be a party pooper here, but if you must visit with someone, which we (speaking for severs everywhere) totally understand, please don't do in our booths. Drive down the road to Starbucks or Sertinos, heck go outside and sit in your car and visit...modern technology such as car air conditioning has made that possible. But please don't camp out in our section.
And if, for WHATEVER REASON, you absolutely MUST stay put in that booth twenty minutes after your bill is paid, do the right thing and tip extra, either to compensate for the business they lost while one of their booths was occupied, or to make up for the server having to stay on their feet even longer, instead of being able to go home and take a warm bath.
A public service announcement from all servers.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
The Brave Little Stiffer
I've caught on to something in the year that I've waited tables and received both good and bad tips. Well, I've learned a lot actually, but the particular thing that I've learned that coincides with my theme today goes like so: Stiffers (the term given to those who leave you a big fat ZERO as a tip, regardless of the reason) do not stick around. I repeat stiffers do not stick around. Anytime someone leaves exact change as their payment for their bill, they place it in your check presenter and run out the door. If they put they cruel little slash through the tip line on the credit card receipt, they do it quickly and hastily before high tailing it out the door before their server can make it back to see the gruesome news ("so much for paying my rent this month... I guess the ditch around back looks pretty comfortable...")
Why do the stiffers do this? The answer is simple: because they know that not tipping is wrong, regardless of your biased judgment of the service ("oh no! The free bread wasn't as hot as I like it! And the food took too long this Saturday night! I'm not tipping) And they are too cowardly to actually face the person they just stomped on. I've always said, and I still hold true to this, that bad tipping or no tipping at all is simply a VERY passive-aggressive way of letting out frustration or taking revenge. I mean, it's too bad our children have to go hungry because of other's passive-aggressive tenancies , but hey, what can you do?
The exception to the rule sat in booth nine today. A young, black male, probably in his late teens to early twenties, and his young, black, girlfriend (I'm guessing), around the same age. I didn't really expect much of a tip out of them, wrong as this may be, simply because statistically, the black race doesn't tip as much as the others, and also statistically young people under twenty don't tip that well either.
They were nice enough. The young man was always smiling, and even told me his name when I introduced myself. They ordered wings as an appetizer, and then took awhile too order their food, while finally settling on a steak for each of them as their meal. They did ask for a few things...of course A1 (I don't understand paying $15 a steak to get it well done and then drench it in A1 where it will taste the same as some low-budget steak from a "mom and pop shop" but hey, to each his own), they asked for paper napkins, and an extra ranch for her salad. No problem, I got all those things for them...it is my job after all. When he finally asked for his check, I promptly delivered him his bill of $47.01. A few minutes later I came back. "Are you ready for me to take care of this for you,"
"Oh yeah!" He said. "That should be good to go, just don't let the penny fall out."
Always famous last words.
I went to the back. Yep...just as I suspected. A perfect $47.01. Including that little penny. It's obvious his momma taught him right, he made sure that penny was in there.
But unlike other stiffers-- remember, the passive-aggressive ones who are out the door faster than Barrack Obama in a redneck trailer park--these stuck around. I mean they made themselves at home. The guy spread out in the booth, the girl propped her feet up. They were all-out maxin' and relaxin' like we were West Philadelphia. For a good twenty minutes.
It's kind of crappy when the stiffers do this, because it opens the door for all kind of temptation. You know, the kind where I go up to the table and say something simple like "Hey, want me to get the rest of these plates out of your way? Oh wait, never mind...you didn't tip me! And I don't work for free!"
But I was nice, and took care of the tables I had left who I figured would tip me.
Eventually they did leave, and I learned I really shouldn't judge. They didn't stiff me at all!
On the table, amongst the leftover plates I didn't bus out of spite...
was a $1 bill.
Why do the stiffers do this? The answer is simple: because they know that not tipping is wrong, regardless of your biased judgment of the service ("oh no! The free bread wasn't as hot as I like it! And the food took too long this Saturday night! I'm not tipping) And they are too cowardly to actually face the person they just stomped on. I've always said, and I still hold true to this, that bad tipping or no tipping at all is simply a VERY passive-aggressive way of letting out frustration or taking revenge. I mean, it's too bad our children have to go hungry because of other's passive-aggressive tenancies , but hey, what can you do?
The exception to the rule sat in booth nine today. A young, black male, probably in his late teens to early twenties, and his young, black, girlfriend (I'm guessing), around the same age. I didn't really expect much of a tip out of them, wrong as this may be, simply because statistically, the black race doesn't tip as much as the others, and also statistically young people under twenty don't tip that well either.
They were nice enough. The young man was always smiling, and even told me his name when I introduced myself. They ordered wings as an appetizer, and then took awhile too order their food, while finally settling on a steak for each of them as their meal. They did ask for a few things...of course A1 (I don't understand paying $15 a steak to get it well done and then drench it in A1 where it will taste the same as some low-budget steak from a "mom and pop shop" but hey, to each his own), they asked for paper napkins, and an extra ranch for her salad. No problem, I got all those things for them...it is my job after all. When he finally asked for his check, I promptly delivered him his bill of $47.01. A few minutes later I came back. "Are you ready for me to take care of this for you,"
"Oh yeah!" He said. "That should be good to go, just don't let the penny fall out."
Always famous last words.
I went to the back. Yep...just as I suspected. A perfect $47.01. Including that little penny. It's obvious his momma taught him right, he made sure that penny was in there.
But unlike other stiffers-- remember, the passive-aggressive ones who are out the door faster than Barrack Obama in a redneck trailer park--these stuck around. I mean they made themselves at home. The guy spread out in the booth, the girl propped her feet up. They were all-out maxin' and relaxin' like we were West Philadelphia. For a good twenty minutes.
It's kind of crappy when the stiffers do this, because it opens the door for all kind of temptation. You know, the kind where I go up to the table and say something simple like "Hey, want me to get the rest of these plates out of your way? Oh wait, never mind...you didn't tip me! And I don't work for free!"
But I was nice, and took care of the tables I had left who I figured would tip me.
Eventually they did leave, and I learned I really shouldn't judge. They didn't stiff me at all!
On the table, amongst the leftover plates I didn't bus out of spite...
was a $1 bill.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
YMBL--Young Men who are Big Losers [[and don't know how to conduct themselves at restaraunts]]
So I had possibly one of the rudest tables I have ever had last night. But see, they could do whatever it is they wanted, because they were with the YMBL (young men's business league...the people who organize the state fair and whatnot). And that is THEIR words, not mine.
They were a party of six. Two arrived before the rest of their group, and they sat at the bar while they waited for the rest of the party, and started off by being jerks to our bartender.
Typically when someone orders a drink at the bar while either we are on a wait, or while waiting for the rest of their party, they pay the bartender for their drink. This is just the standard way we do things, as it makes things easier for everyone. The one guy at the bar ordered a coors light, and when the bartender tried to take his payment for it, he sharply told the bartender "No. You can have my check transferred over to my table.", and then hastily adding afterwards that they were "with the YMBL" (as if that's suppose to make a difference).
So I had a little bit of forewarning that these people weren't going to be pleasant. Nevertheless, I went to the table cheerful as I always am in my greetings, and took drink and appetizer orders. Everyone seemed okay and happy. After the appetizers came out I went ahead and took their order, even though there was one person who still had not arrived.
I get their order in, and then I attend to my other two tables. I had just got sat at the table next door, so I was taking their order when the salads came out. Immediately after I finish talking to the next table, I walk over to them to see how their salads are and how everything is doing. The one guy, who proves himself to be the jerk of night, (and who is actually a DIFFERENT guy than the one who was rude to the bartender) says with an attitude "Well, I could use some more tea, [pointing to his half full tea glass...but obviously to this guy, the glass is always half empty], and maybe you could bus someone of these plates out of our way", while waving his hand dramatically at the stack of appetizer plates that had NOT been sitting there for more than two minutes, being that I had just watched their salads arrive two minutes ago. (not to mention the fact that they saw me taking the other table's order, it's not like I had been chatting at the host stand or off in a corner texting or something. seriously.)
So I take the plates to the back without a word, and bring the guy his tea refill. At this time, the sixth guy had arrived so I get his order and put it in.
About ten minutes later the rest of their food arrives (minus that one guys's, but at least he doesn't gripe about THAT). A few of the guys are finished with their salads, a few are not. I'm passing out their food, calling out each plate as I do so. Then I get to Mr. Jerk's plate, and call it out. "Well, that's mine, but I don't know where you're going to PUT it," he spats at me. "I'm still eating my salad." Seriously? I was really tempted to take his plate and say, "Okay, we'll put it under the heat lamp and let it get all nasty so you can finish the last five bites you have left of your salad." But I didn't. I sat his plate next to him and finished passing out everyone else's plate. Then I went and attended to my other two tables.
Not too long later, Mr. Late's food is ready and another server runs it to the table. Apparently, Mr. Late looked at his sweet potato full of brown sugar and honey butter and said, "Doesn't this usually come with brown sugar?" Well, it already does, nitwit, but the other server told Mr. Late we would get him some brown sugar, and the came into the kitchen to tell me. The only problem is, he gave me the wrong table number. He gave me the table number who is NEXT to them (21, instead of 22). So I dutifully bring out a ramiken of brown sugar to table 21. Table 21 tells me they did not ask for brown sugar, but they'll keep it anyway. Confused, I just say, "okay..." Then I look over and see six eyes staring at me from table 22 with disgust. As if the unforgiveable sin was bringing someone else their precious extra brown sugar. I said to Mr. Late at 22 "Oh, it must have been you who asked for the brown sugar. I apologize, sir. The server who told me you needed brown sugar gave me the wrong table number. Give me one minute." Then the guy from 21 stepped in and said "Here, we don't need this, give it to them," so I handed Mr. Late his brown sugar and apologized again for the table number mix up.
Then Mr. Jerk shattered the camel's back. "So, are you the only waitress here today?" he asks with disgust. "Excuse me?" I say.
"Are you the only waitress working, or do you just have every table in the resaraunt?"
Silence. My face grew stone cold as I removed a few salad plates and a bread board from the table. As I walked off I said, with as much mock politeness as I could muster, "I'll be back to check on y'all in fifteen mintes. I have 'every table in the restaraunt' to wait on" And I decided then I was never going back to that table.
I told the key manager that day I was not going back, and when the table told my manager what I said, he got someone else to wait on them. Luckily, since everyone who had been at the restaraunt since the table arrived (especially the bartender) knew how rude the table was, I wasn't in any trouble (that was the first time I had even come close to smarting off to a table...but then that was also the first time a table treated me like a dog every time I came by the table). The other server took the table for the rest of their meal, (which was a relief that I wasn't going to have to tip out when they stiffed me on their $180 tab and cause me to lose money) and I waited on my other three I had at this point.
There is a happy ending here. Table 21, the table next door who saw firsthand how I was being treated, especially when I accidently brought them the brown sugar. . . well that guy wound up tipping me $35 on a $70 tab. And when he hands me that very generous tip, he told me "You did a great job, I don't care what the jerks said"
Moral of the story: There are good people in the world. And God, I believe He was looking out for me, working through those two nice people :)
They were a party of six. Two arrived before the rest of their group, and they sat at the bar while they waited for the rest of the party, and started off by being jerks to our bartender.
Typically when someone orders a drink at the bar while either we are on a wait, or while waiting for the rest of their party, they pay the bartender for their drink. This is just the standard way we do things, as it makes things easier for everyone. The one guy at the bar ordered a coors light, and when the bartender tried to take his payment for it, he sharply told the bartender "No. You can have my check transferred over to my table.", and then hastily adding afterwards that they were "with the YMBL" (as if that's suppose to make a difference).
So I had a little bit of forewarning that these people weren't going to be pleasant. Nevertheless, I went to the table cheerful as I always am in my greetings, and took drink and appetizer orders. Everyone seemed okay and happy. After the appetizers came out I went ahead and took their order, even though there was one person who still had not arrived.
I get their order in, and then I attend to my other two tables. I had just got sat at the table next door, so I was taking their order when the salads came out. Immediately after I finish talking to the next table, I walk over to them to see how their salads are and how everything is doing. The one guy, who proves himself to be the jerk of night, (and who is actually a DIFFERENT guy than the one who was rude to the bartender) says with an attitude "Well, I could use some more tea, [pointing to his half full tea glass...but obviously to this guy, the glass is always half empty], and maybe you could bus someone of these plates out of our way", while waving his hand dramatically at the stack of appetizer plates that had NOT been sitting there for more than two minutes, being that I had just watched their salads arrive two minutes ago. (not to mention the fact that they saw me taking the other table's order, it's not like I had been chatting at the host stand or off in a corner texting or something. seriously.)
So I take the plates to the back without a word, and bring the guy his tea refill. At this time, the sixth guy had arrived so I get his order and put it in.
About ten minutes later the rest of their food arrives (minus that one guys's, but at least he doesn't gripe about THAT). A few of the guys are finished with their salads, a few are not. I'm passing out their food, calling out each plate as I do so. Then I get to Mr. Jerk's plate, and call it out. "Well, that's mine, but I don't know where you're going to PUT it," he spats at me. "I'm still eating my salad." Seriously? I was really tempted to take his plate and say, "Okay, we'll put it under the heat lamp and let it get all nasty so you can finish the last five bites you have left of your salad." But I didn't. I sat his plate next to him and finished passing out everyone else's plate. Then I went and attended to my other two tables.
Not too long later, Mr. Late's food is ready and another server runs it to the table. Apparently, Mr. Late looked at his sweet potato full of brown sugar and honey butter and said, "Doesn't this usually come with brown sugar?" Well, it already does, nitwit, but the other server told Mr. Late we would get him some brown sugar, and the came into the kitchen to tell me. The only problem is, he gave me the wrong table number. He gave me the table number who is NEXT to them (21, instead of 22). So I dutifully bring out a ramiken of brown sugar to table 21. Table 21 tells me they did not ask for brown sugar, but they'll keep it anyway. Confused, I just say, "okay..." Then I look over and see six eyes staring at me from table 22 with disgust. As if the unforgiveable sin was bringing someone else their precious extra brown sugar. I said to Mr. Late at 22 "Oh, it must have been you who asked for the brown sugar. I apologize, sir. The server who told me you needed brown sugar gave me the wrong table number. Give me one minute." Then the guy from 21 stepped in and said "Here, we don't need this, give it to them," so I handed Mr. Late his brown sugar and apologized again for the table number mix up.
Then Mr. Jerk shattered the camel's back. "So, are you the only waitress here today?" he asks with disgust. "Excuse me?" I say.
"Are you the only waitress working, or do you just have every table in the resaraunt?"
Silence. My face grew stone cold as I removed a few salad plates and a bread board from the table. As I walked off I said, with as much mock politeness as I could muster, "I'll be back to check on y'all in fifteen mintes. I have 'every table in the restaraunt' to wait on" And I decided then I was never going back to that table.
I told the key manager that day I was not going back, and when the table told my manager what I said, he got someone else to wait on them. Luckily, since everyone who had been at the restaraunt since the table arrived (especially the bartender) knew how rude the table was, I wasn't in any trouble (that was the first time I had even come close to smarting off to a table...but then that was also the first time a table treated me like a dog every time I came by the table). The other server took the table for the rest of their meal, (which was a relief that I wasn't going to have to tip out when they stiffed me on their $180 tab and cause me to lose money) and I waited on my other three I had at this point.
There is a happy ending here. Table 21, the table next door who saw firsthand how I was being treated, especially when I accidently brought them the brown sugar. . . well that guy wound up tipping me $35 on a $70 tab. And when he hands me that very generous tip, he told me "You did a great job, I don't care what the jerks said"
Moral of the story: There are good people in the world. And God, I believe He was looking out for me, working through those two nice people :)
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Disclaimer...an Anonymous Blog
For privacy purposes, I will not be using any real names of customers or people that I work with, nor will I be using the name of the restaraunt I work with. These stories will simply be general (Yet very TRUE) stories that could happen at any restaraunt where customers sit down and do what people do best :)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Father's Day 2009
Today I pulled a thirteen hour shift. I got to work at ten in the morning (we opened at 11) and as a closer, did not leave until 11 o' clock in the evening! Talk about dead on my feet! It was worth it though, for the$150 I made, which was actually my goal for the day! Score! (although I admit, it would have been a whole lot more had more people done their job and tipped properly).
Looking back on the looooong day, most of it is a blur, and the specific details are fuzzy (my memory is usually really sharp!), just a busy busy busy day of being off and on in the weeds and continously double sat. But there are a few noteworthy things worth mentioning to serve the purpose of this blog.
My first table, a party of four, (a couple maybe in their thirties and one of their parents) had a tab of $104...they all got steak dinners plus a few bar drinks. $10 tip. My first words when I saw the mediocre 10% tip (for no reason, of course) was "let the games begin..." I mean, that's what people think waiting tables is for us, right? A game...we're just here for our own entertainment. We don't have rent to pay or anything trivial like that.
Another table that made themselves known tonight was a party of five. . .four elderly women and an elderly man. I don't think they ate out very much. At the time they came, the food was coming out a little slower than normal because of the few parties we had come in. The table next to theirs also had to wait a bit for their food, but they were relaxed about it. As I'm speaking with table 2 [[the relaxed people]] table 3 [[the old people]] starting craning their necks to stare at me and one starts frantically waving their arms in the air? I mean...really? I continue to speak with table 2 (aka, table sanity) and allow them to wait their turn. They then continue to yell out "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!" Giving these people the benefit of the doubt that maybe there was a giant spider in the middle of their table (in which case they wouldn't be the only one flailing their arms :) ) or maybe a spilled drink, I walk the two feet to table 3. One lady says... "So...is the food just taking a long time today?"
Alright...inconsideration and impatience...two things I thought we learned at some point before elementary graduation. I forgave them because they DID tip me $13 on a $60 (although the lady paying was not one of the arm-flailing-panic-attackers).
This incident is one of my biggest pet peeves. I cannot tell you how many times I have been talking to a [[sane]] table and have had the [[insane]] table next to them stare me down until I turn around, or worse--turn around in their booth and shout commands at me, interrupting the conversation with the other people.
Seriously...if you go out to eat--please refrain from this behavior. And FYI, arm flailing does not make your food cook any faster.
Looking back on the looooong day, most of it is a blur, and the specific details are fuzzy (my memory is usually really sharp!), just a busy busy busy day of being off and on in the weeds and continously double sat. But there are a few noteworthy things worth mentioning to serve the purpose of this blog.
My first table, a party of four, (a couple maybe in their thirties and one of their parents) had a tab of $104...they all got steak dinners plus a few bar drinks. $10 tip. My first words when I saw the mediocre 10% tip (for no reason, of course) was "let the games begin..." I mean, that's what people think waiting tables is for us, right? A game...we're just here for our own entertainment. We don't have rent to pay or anything trivial like that.
Another table that made themselves known tonight was a party of five. . .four elderly women and an elderly man. I don't think they ate out very much. At the time they came, the food was coming out a little slower than normal because of the few parties we had come in. The table next to theirs also had to wait a bit for their food, but they were relaxed about it. As I'm speaking with table 2 [[the relaxed people]] table 3 [[the old people]] starting craning their necks to stare at me and one starts frantically waving their arms in the air? I mean...really? I continue to speak with table 2 (aka, table sanity) and allow them to wait their turn. They then continue to yell out "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!" Giving these people the benefit of the doubt that maybe there was a giant spider in the middle of their table (in which case they wouldn't be the only one flailing their arms :) ) or maybe a spilled drink, I walk the two feet to table 3. One lady says... "So...is the food just taking a long time today?"
Alright...inconsideration and impatience...two things I thought we learned at some point before elementary graduation. I forgave them because they DID tip me $13 on a $60 (although the lady paying was not one of the arm-flailing-panic-attackers).
This incident is one of my biggest pet peeves. I cannot tell you how many times I have been talking to a [[sane]] table and have had the [[insane]] table next to them stare me down until I turn around, or worse--turn around in their booth and shout commands at me, interrupting the conversation with the other people.
Seriously...if you go out to eat--please refrain from this behavior. And FYI, arm flailing does not make your food cook any faster.
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