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valis2So I was thinking about the service industry. Specifically, waitressing.
I've long been fascinated with waiters and waitresses. The profession is pretty thankless in many ways, and I'm endlessly interested in the whys and hows and what happens behind the scenes. Whenever I find out that someone has been in the service industry, I drive them nuts with questions.
(I could never be a waitress, because my short term memory is horrid. And I don't have the patience.)
So I was telling![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
subrosax all about my worst experiences in a restaurant, and then I thought, hey, I have a LJ! I can have all the conversations about waiting that I want. Heh.
And there are two sides, of course. We can talk about the worst experiences you've had as a patron--and the worst experiences you've had as a server! Glee!
Horror Story #1 (or That Poor Waitress): Several years ago I was engaged to a guy I'll call Ricky. Ricky and I used to eat out quite a bit, and sometimes we would eat out with another couple...I'll call them Fred and Ethel.
After a few meals together, I realized that they were the worst tippers. No, really. My personal philosophy for tipping is: 20% is the standard. 15% if the waitress (and not the cook, etc.) was really incompetent (for example, not writing down a complicated order and then screwing it up). 10% if the waitress is absolutely horrific (this has only happened...twice?). Sometimes I'll give 25% if it was great.
Anyway, they only gave about 5-10%. Every time. At first I thought it was a fluke, but then I realized it wasn't. And we kept getting one check for the four of us, and they would (in essence) use our tip money to pay for part of their meal.
So we went out for Fred's birthday. We were all in a good mood. We went to TGIF, and, as we were all big people, we ordered lots of food. And liquor. You know, two appetizers, four entrées, multiple drinks per person, and dessert. And, because it was Fred's birthday, there was the obligatory hellish song for the waitstaff.
Now, by this time I was starting to understand how high maintenance Ethel was. She would ask (in her very girlish soft voice) for pop with no ice. And then make a big eye-rolling display when the server would forget and put ice in it. Everything had to be just so. And it was especially frustrating because half of the time the servers couldn't even hear what she was asking for. And she required constant refills.
So as the meal progresses, I'm feeling worse and worse for the harried waitress. It's Saturday night, the place is packed, she has to orchestrate the Birthday Hellishness, and they're both being demanding. I mean, seriously. The kind of demanding that I know must drive servers crazy--you know, where they get something for you, and when they give it to you, you ask for something else, and then when they give that to you, they ask for something else, and on and on.
They both order steak and alcoholic drinks. Ricky and I order much cheaper entrées because we're both pretty much broke. We order an appetizer to split as well, and a dessert to split.
The check comes. It works out to about $80 or so. We put in our share, and they take the money, do their figuring, and leave $84.
No, seriously. $84. Barely five percent for the server who worked her ass off for an hour and twenty minutes.
So I pretend that I'm hitting the restroom, and I run up to the waitress and give her my last five dollars, my only money until payday. "I'm so sorry about the tip," I say. She nods wearily.
After that? Separate checks.
Horror Story #2: I went to Ruby Tuesdays with one of my co-workers. I'll call him Phil.
We used to eat at that RT constantly--probably three or four times a week. We were seated, and the waitress came up.
Phil asked for two large glasses of water. He drank tons of water with each meal, and it was a pain in the ass to find the waitress for constant refills, so he always asked for two glasses instead.
The waitress argued with him.
He asked again.
At this point, most waitresses would just give in--it's not worth it to keep going, y'know? Unless there's a policy or something. Yet again she argued. Finally, she told him that she would bring him one glass, and that she would be refilling the water all the time. He conceded.
We placed our order.
She brought out the drinks, and wasn't very pleasant--I can't remember what happened, exactly, except she had a sour face and wasn't happy.
That was the last I saw of her. She never came out again. Nope. None of the fabled refills occurred. Food runners brought our food. We couldn't even find someone to get us a check, and after over an hour, we just guessed how much the food cost and left that.
Please, please, please share your horror stories! I would love to hear them.
I've long been fascinated with waiters and waitresses. The profession is pretty thankless in many ways, and I'm endlessly interested in the whys and hows and what happens behind the scenes. Whenever I find out that someone has been in the service industry, I drive them nuts with questions.
(I could never be a waitress, because my short term memory is horrid. And I don't have the patience.)
So I was telling
subrosax all about my worst experiences in a restaurant, and then I thought, hey, I have a LJ! I can have all the conversations about waiting that I want. Heh.And there are two sides, of course. We can talk about the worst experiences you've had as a patron--and the worst experiences you've had as a server! Glee!
Horror Story #1 (or That Poor Waitress): Several years ago I was engaged to a guy I'll call Ricky. Ricky and I used to eat out quite a bit, and sometimes we would eat out with another couple...I'll call them Fred and Ethel.
After a few meals together, I realized that they were the worst tippers. No, really. My personal philosophy for tipping is: 20% is the standard. 15% if the waitress (and not the cook, etc.) was really incompetent (for example, not writing down a complicated order and then screwing it up). 10% if the waitress is absolutely horrific (this has only happened...twice?). Sometimes I'll give 25% if it was great.
Anyway, they only gave about 5-10%. Every time. At first I thought it was a fluke, but then I realized it wasn't. And we kept getting one check for the four of us, and they would (in essence) use our tip money to pay for part of their meal.
So we went out for Fred's birthday. We were all in a good mood. We went to TGIF, and, as we were all big people, we ordered lots of food. And liquor. You know, two appetizers, four entrées, multiple drinks per person, and dessert. And, because it was Fred's birthday, there was the obligatory hellish song for the waitstaff.
Now, by this time I was starting to understand how high maintenance Ethel was. She would ask (in her very girlish soft voice) for pop with no ice. And then make a big eye-rolling display when the server would forget and put ice in it. Everything had to be just so. And it was especially frustrating because half of the time the servers couldn't even hear what she was asking for. And she required constant refills.
So as the meal progresses, I'm feeling worse and worse for the harried waitress. It's Saturday night, the place is packed, she has to orchestrate the Birthday Hellishness, and they're both being demanding. I mean, seriously. The kind of demanding that I know must drive servers crazy--you know, where they get something for you, and when they give it to you, you ask for something else, and then when they give that to you, they ask for something else, and on and on.
They both order steak and alcoholic drinks. Ricky and I order much cheaper entrées because we're both pretty much broke. We order an appetizer to split as well, and a dessert to split.
The check comes. It works out to about $80 or so. We put in our share, and they take the money, do their figuring, and leave $84.
No, seriously. $84. Barely five percent for the server who worked her ass off for an hour and twenty minutes.
So I pretend that I'm hitting the restroom, and I run up to the waitress and give her my last five dollars, my only money until payday. "I'm so sorry about the tip," I say. She nods wearily.
After that? Separate checks.
Horror Story #2: I went to Ruby Tuesdays with one of my co-workers. I'll call him Phil.
We used to eat at that RT constantly--probably three or four times a week. We were seated, and the waitress came up.
Phil asked for two large glasses of water. He drank tons of water with each meal, and it was a pain in the ass to find the waitress for constant refills, so he always asked for two glasses instead.
The waitress argued with him.
He asked again.
At this point, most waitresses would just give in--it's not worth it to keep going, y'know? Unless there's a policy or something. Yet again she argued. Finally, she told him that she would bring him one glass, and that she would be refilling the water all the time. He conceded.
We placed our order.
She brought out the drinks, and wasn't very pleasant--I can't remember what happened, exactly, except she had a sour face and wasn't happy.
That was the last I saw of her. She never came out again. Nope. None of the fabled refills occurred. Food runners brought our food. We couldn't even find someone to get us a check, and after over an hour, we just guessed how much the food cost and left that.
Please, please, please share your horror stories! I would love to hear them.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-05-02 02:11 am (UTC)My single worst experience was when my mom and I were at lunch at a seafood place in San Diego. The waiter set my mom's plate down in front of her, and then as he was about to set mine down he sneezed all over my food. And this was not a young guy, or otherwise a newbie to the biz; I'd watched him wait on other tables and he was, as far as I could tell, an experienced waiter who was good at his job.
He sneezed all over my food, then went on to set the plate down in front of me as if nothing had happened.
You know me. So you can, I am sure, guess my reaction.
And the dude wanted to argue with me about it. Bad idea.
According to my mother, the hostess looked up in a panic from the other side of the dining room, and other diners stopped mid-meal to stare. Because there's nothing like an enraged woman forcibly repeating, "DUDE, YOU SNEEZED ON MY FOOD. THIS IS A PROBLEM" to bring a busy lunch shift to a dead halt.
I'll give the manager credit--he not only sent our waiter home, he took over his tables. He saw to it that I got another lunch (not sneezed-upon), and comped our entire tab. I was ready to walk out the door in a rage (in fact, I was just standing up when he approached our table), but he handled the situation so well that by the time my food arrived again I was able to enjoy it. We left him a 25% tip.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-05-02 03:50 am (UTC)That is an insane story. I totally wish I could have seen your face--in fact, I'll bet that the guy shivers every time he recalls it. hee!!
I had a waiter flip my plate perfectly upside down right in front of me once. It was pasta, so it was a complete mess and unsalvageable. It happened, and he looked at me with this expression of utter shock.
I should have told him about my bad luck, and then he would have understood. ha!