Cardosa - The bitchy waiter: tales, tips & trials from a life in food service

appetizer

noun. A small dish of food or a drink taken before a meal or the main course of a meal to stimulate ones appetite; something to begin with.

A great man once said, if everyone could just wait tables for six months of his life, the world would be a better place. I am almost certain those words came from the mouth of Plato in 325 BCE, but it may have been my friend Jane, who said it in 1994 when we waited tables together in Times Square. Regardless, I do believe that if more people put on an apron and did their time as a server, the world would be a more patient and understanding place. I am a waiter and have been one for over twenty years. Contrary to what people often think, it is my real job. It is a job that takes skill, flexibility, a keen mind, and an incredible amount of patience.

As eating out has become one of Americas favorite pastimes, you would think that more people would have respect for those of us who take their order, bring their food, and make sure their dining experience is a good one. Sadly, that is not the case. Many customers look at their server as someone who is beneath them. How else would you explain the customer who snaps his fingers to get my attention and then ignores me to answer his cell phone when I get to the table? Or the parents who ask me to turn off the television over the bar that is showing the big game because they dont allow their kids to watch TV while they eat? Or when I tell people that the restaurant only carries Pepsi and then they ask me if I can run to the deli to get them a Coca-Cola? These people clearly have never worn an apron and carried a tray for tips. If they had, they would know how to treat their servers.

Many people think the job is easy and only for those who have no education, skills, or ambition. They are wrong. Many of us have degrees. From real colleges. I have even worked with people who have graduate degrees but chose to wait tables because the money can be good and maybe that MFA in Shakespearean acting didnt open up jobs the way they expected it to. Contrary to popular belief, waiting tables can be a very stressful job. If you dont believe me, you can ask a former coworker of mine named Rhonda who once disappeared from her station. She was eventually found curled up in the fetal position and crying under the pay phone near the restrooms. The stress of having a full section of people all screaming that they needed their chicken fingers right away proved to be too much for poor, poor Rhonda. Of course the customers had a point. After all, they had tickets to Teletubbies Live at Radio City Music Hall, and with the show starting in thirty minutes, Rhondas sanity was simply not a priority for them. We servers wiped away her tears and finished her shift for her because we were all in that hot mess together.

Do I expect a federal mandate to be issued requiring everyone to wait tables for six months just so they can see what its like on the other side of the menu? No, but I do wish that more customers could take a moment and put themselves in my shoesmy horribly ugly, slip-resistant shoes, which I am required to wear, but which my employer wont pay for. Waiting tables is a profession that deserves more respect than it gets, but I guess its hard to earn respect when you smell like a fajita skillet and there is honey mustard in your hair.

On occasion, I look at myself and question where I gained my stellar attitude toward my service job. How did I imbibe such a healthy outlook for working in a restaurant? I flash back to the mid-1980s. Madonna is on the radio, Cabbage Patch dolls are all the rage, and a girl at school wears a pair of red jelly shoes every day. I am sixteen years old, and Ive just gotten my first job ever. For $3.35 an hour, I work as a dishwasher at one of the premier dining establishments in all the land, the finest place to enjoy a high-quality steak that was cooked to perfection and served to you with a smile. Okay, not really. It is a family-style buffet steakhouse in Victoria, Texas. You knew it was fancy because it had a salad bar with three different dressings.

I took the job because two of my best friends worked there as waitresses. They made all the money, while I toiled in the back, emptying grease traps, taking out garbage, and mopping bathrooms. But I was in the food and beverage industry, and knew I had found my home. I did not deal with customers very often, except when someone spilled something and I had to go out into the dining room to clean it up. Within my first week, I knew that the job was a piece of crap, but the money! Fifteen hours a week at $3.35 an hour was bringing me about 35 bucks a week after taxes. I was rich! Rich, I tell you!

One night, someone wanted chicken fried steak without gravy. The person must have either been from someplace other than Texas or non compos mentis because everyone knows that in Texas, chicken fried steak is eaten with gravy on it. Thats just how its done. It went out to the table with gravy, and the customer gave it back to the waitress, who gave it back to the kitchen staff, who then gave it to me, the dishwasher.

Wash that gravy off that meat. my manager told me. They dont want it.

I thought they were playing a joke on the new kid. I laughed nervously, not sure what to do.

Uh, what? Wash the meat? I asked.

Wash that gravy off that meat. Never mind, Ill do it myself.

My manager sighed with dissatisfaction and took the spray nozzle from my hands. He held the chicken fried steak with his other hand and sprayed the gravy off it, then threw the soaking-wet piece of meat back onto the plate. I stared at him in disbelief as he tossed the meat into the fryer for a few minutes and then pulled it out, put it on a fresh plate, and handed it back to the waitress, who took it back to the table and served it just as the customer wanted it: chicken fried steak with no gravy.

I learned that night that we in the food service industry have a responsibility to make our customers happy. Whether it is giving them a warm smile, making sure they have the perfect ambience, or even something as simple as washing the gravy off their meat, we are there to please. I thank you, steakhouse manager, for teaching me how important it is to make sure the customer is always happy.