Katie S. 28

Installation #3/ the top slice of bread) For those of you who have spent any amount of time in Nashville TN, Jackass #2 needs no introduction.  To paraphrase Steve Carell, in this town either you know a guy like this, or you are a guy like this.  He’s the young, marginally attractive, music business wannabe who walks around like he’s already made it.  He has a constant self-confident smirk on his face, and he obviously spends a great deal of time and money meticulously maintaining his disheveled, country rocker look.

Dude feels entitled to be just as particular and demanding as he wants to be, because dude is pretty darn sure he’s the coolest guy to ever darken the doors of this or any other establishment.

Dude is woefully wrong.

As I am trying to get his drink order, JA#2 makes a completely transparent crack about how we don’t serve alcohol.  He then tells his male dinner companion, who is dressed in similar pricey grunge attire, not to worry because they will definitely be hitting some bars later on in the evening.  (OK buddy. We get it. Cool people like you have drinks with dinner, and you’ve chosen this establishment because you’re trying to prove that you’re so cool you don’t even have to hang out at cool places.  You are beyond blatantly and conventionally cool – you are ironically and campy cool.) I get the drink order out and then give the dynamic duo a few minutes to wait for the third member of their party.

As I’m going to greet the table directly behind his, JA#2 grabs my arm.  Now if you have ever met me, you know that this is a HUGE no no.  I can barely stand to be touched by people who I like and have known for years, let alone some wind bag who I just met and formed an instant aversion to!

JA#2, still holding my arm at this point, says (and I swear on a stack of menus I am quoting this verbatim), “Listen, I totally hate pretentious people.  I mean HATE them.  But here’s what I want you to bring me, and its not on your menu.  I want, like, a nice thick hamburger on top of one slice of grilled Texas toast.  Then I want some, like, really crispy fries on top of that, and then I want the whole thing to be just, like, covered with brown gravy. The last time I asked for this here, the waitress actually just brought me the fries and gravy on the side and expected me to put them on top of the burger myself!”" he finishes, now looking at his buddy  with a ‘can you believe that’ expression on his face.

“You know what I totally hate?” I’m thinking to myself.  “People who start a sentence with, ‘I totally hate pretentious people,’ and then proceed to make a totally pretentious request.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply, not even trying to conceal what an idiot I think he is.  “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to give these people behind you their drinks and then I’ll be back to take the rest of your order.”

When I return to the table, JA#2 patiently waits for me to take the orders of his buddy and the painfully thin young woman who has now joined the group. Then he reiterates his food request in great detail.

When he’s finished he flashes me one of those ‘I know I’m being kind of an ass but I’m so charming you can’t help but want to accommodate me’ kind of smiles, and tells me he’ll take good care of me if I get this right.  Unfortunately, I seem to be immune to his charms. In fact I find myself choking back vomit as I walk to the kitchen.

Now in order to get JA#2’s food to come out exactly as he requested, it makes a great deal more sense to just construct it myself rather than piss off the already overloaded line cooks.  So I ring in a plain hamburger and fries on grilled sour dough bread and then keep my eye on the window to make sure that no one else runs it before I can make the necessary preparations.

When the food comes up, I call my buddy Donny over and ask him to say encouraging things to me like, “Way to go above and beyond for a guest!” as I begrudgingly prepare the French fry massacre.

I then deliver the food to the table, where (predictably) there is virtually no response. I take this to mean that either A) JA#2 is displeased with how his little creation turned out and is mentally cursing my incompetence, or B) JA#2 got exactly what he wanted and is just too much of a pretentious ass to say thank you for the effort.

Either way, I don’t care.  I keep their drinks full, offer dessert when the time comes and lay the checks down as quickly as possible. After occupying a table in our campy little non-alcoholic establishment for over two hours, JA#2 and his  entourage finally depart.  And I am not the least bit surprised to find that they have left less than a 15% tip on the table.

Installation #2/ the ‘meat’)  About a month after I started working, I had these two lovely red headed  girls sit in my section one night.  They appeared to be in their early twenties and they were just about as funny and friendly as anyone I had ever met, in or outside the restaurant.  We made an instant connection based on the fact that one of them was also named Katie and the other one, whose name was Brooke, couldn’t figure out for the life of her what she wanted to eat or drink, and was ‘desperate’ for some help deciding.

Over the next few months those same two girls kept coming in, each time with a bigger crowd, and each time asking to sit in my section. As it turned out, they attended a college church group on Tuesday nights and were inviting people to come and eat with them after the service.   Each member that was added to the group brought their own unique brand of humor and personality. But without exception they were all kind and gracious to every person they encountered in the restaurant.

They even went so far as to create elaborate smiley faces for me out of the dishes, sugar packets and condiment bottles that were left on the table after the meal. They have continued the tradition to this day.  Each face has a name (and sometimes a back story depending on how kooky Brooke and Katie are feeling) and I take a picture of every single one with my cell phone before I clear the table.  Not long after they started coming in I began to get friend requests from various members of the group on facebook.  It made me smile to receive fun little messages about how much they were looking forward to hanging out together and seeing their favorite waitress on Tuesday night. It was at this point that I proudly started referring to them as ‘ my regulars.’ Having regulars in an establishment like ours is kind of a badge of honor, so I was pretty excited to have a group of my own so early in my illustrious serving career

Among the group is a young couple who have been dating for several years.  One night when they came in it was pouring rain outside.  When I asked the young man what I could bring him to drink he said all he really wanted was a dry pair of jeans.  I told him he had to be a regular for at least six months before he could order jeans, and this became kind of an on-going joke.

Several months after the couple joined the group, the young lady returned to college up north.  Within weeks of her departure the guy told me (In the strictest of guest/server confidentiality of course) that he was planning to propose over the Christmas break.  He then asked if getting engaged might entitle him to that pair of jeans he was owed.  I told him that the day his girl came in with a ring on her finger I would have a pair of jeans ready and waiting for him.  Well sure enough, a few weeks before Christmas break he called me over to the table to show me the diamond he had bought.  And a few days before Christmas in walked the happy couple, all aglow with romance, and the sparkly ring firmly in place on the young lady’s finger.  As soon as I saw the ring I pulled a homemade Christmas ornament out of my server book and presented the young man with his pair of congratulatory “jeans.”

After the ceremonial giving of the jeans, sweet Katie handed me a box of cookies and a lovely Christmas card from the whole group.

Last week, one of the young men who recently joined the group jokingly asked if they were the reason I worked Tuesday nights.  I told him that scheduling was the reason I worked Tuesday nights, but that they were the reason I enjoyed it! I often wonder at the fact that I’ve found myself serving tables again after years of school, office work and mothering.  But when I encounter people like these kids, people I might never have met were I not doing this job, I begin to see a bit more of God’s design in this seemingly random turn of events.  And I am happy to be where God has me.

Well, its late January and the season of generosity and goodwill toward men seems to be firmly behind us….or at least in the restaurant business it is.  The crazies are back and the elaborate demands, demeaning treatment and inadequate compensation are free flowing.  However, lest you think its all bad, I’ve decided to take a page out of the book of Stewie Griffin.  Over the next three posts I’m going to construct what I like to call  an inverse compliment sandwich.  (As in – a story about a jackass followed by a story about a group of ‘restore my faith in mankind’ type college student, followed by another story about a jackass.)

Installation #1/bottom bread slice) The other day in the middle of our dinner rush, one of our cashiers flagged me down on the way to my tables.  After dropping off the drinks I was carrying I accompanied her to the front where she introduced me to an elderly gentleman who will henceforth be referred to as Jackass #1.  Jackass #1 wanted to  place  a To-Go order, but before I could even reach for my server pad, he immediately started into a tirade about the terrible service he always received at this restaurant and how the food here was absolutely awful.

This of course begged the obvious question of why in the he** he kept choosing to revisit our establishment if he hated it so much…but something told me that such a question would prove both futile and time consuming, so I instead assumed the apologetic, ‘please allow me to kiss you tushie’ posture he was so obviously looking for.  I assured him that I would personally see to it that his food came out right, on time and to his exact specifications, and then prepared to take his order.  “Oh no,” he huffed indignantly. “This order is for my daughter and I want you to call her yourself.”

“I see” I replied, as I glanced back at the four full tables that were awaiting my attention in the dining room.  Now let me just pause here to say that part of our job as servers is to take To-Go orders over the phone or from walk-in guests; but seldom, if ever, are we actually asked to call someone ourselves to see if they would like to something to eat.  I mean for goodness sakes, if I wanted to make sales calls I’d be working at Verizon!  But, with a line piling up at the cashier stand and the prospect of taking up even more precious time to call a manager, I decided to swallow my pride and jump behind the desk to make the call.

After at least three rings a perfectly pleasant sounding young woman picked up the phone.  At first she was a bit baffled as to why a waitress might be calling to take the order that she had already given to her father, but after I explained his fears about my total incompetence (in slightly gentler words of course) she gave an exasperated little chuckle and ordered a basic meatloaf dinner with no extras.

As I hurried off to ring in the ticket, I could hear Jackass #1 loudly berating the poor cashier who had come to fetch me in the first place.  In fact, I later learned that he continued to monopolize the poor woman with his constant complaining for the entire duration of his wait.  He even went so far as to criticize her for letting a line build up while she was so dutifully listening to him gripe.

When his food came up (in record time I might add) I double checked and delivered it myself as promised.   And after three trips back to the kitchen to get him various and sundry items that he had not originally asked for, Jackass #1 finally mumbled a reluctant “Thank you,” and left without further incident. He even left me a three dollar tip, which seldom happens on To-Go orders.  But  I would have taken no money in exchange for just a smidgen of human decency.

I learned an embarrassing truth about myself last week. Despite all of my cautious behavior, suspicious tendencies, and general mistrust in mankind, it turns out I do NOT react appropriately in a potentially threatening situation.

Allow me to explain:
As my friend Amy and I were leaving after a closing shift at the restaurant last week, we noticed a beat up car parked between her vehicle and mine. This was unusual because it was almost 11 p.m. and we were the only closers, so our side of the parking lot should have been completely empty save for our two cars.

As we approached, the male driver of the suspicious vehicle quickly pulled out of the space and appeared to be leaving. Amy and I hurried to our respective cars, but just as I was climbing into the driver’s seat, the car peeled around and returned to the space it had previously occupied. At this point I became very nervous because: 1) It pulled in so quickly that it almost hit my open driver’s side door 2) It approached at such an angle that I was now incapable of pulling out without conducting some serious Austin Powers style maneuvering, and 3) I was now cut off from Amy.

As I scrambled to get into my car, the passenger side window of the other car rolled down and a large woman who appeared to be around my age asked me if I could ‘help them out.’ As she spoke she glanced toward the backseat of their vehicle where a car seat was visible. I couldn’t tell if there was a child in the seat or not, but due to the suspect nature of their approach my fight or flight instinct had kicked in. I muttered a quick, “Sorry,” closed and locked my door, and started my engine. At this point Amy, who was unaware that the people in the car were speaking to me, began pulling out. But before she could, the other car peeled out once again and drove off in a hurry. At the stoplight at the end of the road, I pulled alongside Amy and told her what had happened. I then drove home quickly, constantly checking my rear view mirrors to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I felt a horrible mix of guilt and fear. I wondered if I had just passed up am opportunity to help out a family in need, or if I had just narrowly escaped becoming the victim of a crime of some sort.

I lay awake for a long time that night thinking about the right and the wrong way to ask a woman for help, and whether or not it is fair to assume people who have been raised in an atmosphere of poverty should be expected to know better. It also occurred to me that some kind of scam must have been at play, because if help was truly needed, surely they would have gone to a more densely populated area, and not the almost empty parking lot of a closed restaurant. What I concluded was that they knew servers left work with cash at the end of the night, and had been waiting for us to come out.

Now here is the part where my reaction was inappropriate. While my self preservation instincts did indeed kick in, my ‘others’ preservation instincts did NOT! Thankfully Amy (who in so many ways is like an older and wiser sister to me) has some of the best instincts I have ever seen.

Here is what she did:
First, she did not budge until she knew that I was safe and on my way. Then she noted where the car had gone and made some very careful observations. The couple had pulled into a gas station that was closed and they were now conversing with the passengers of a dark SUV. Surmising that the occupants of the two cars must somehow be connected (because why else would the SUV just have been sitting in the parking lot of a closed gas station?), she elected to call and notify our manager, Lana, who was still inside the restaurant shutting things down. Over the next hour or so Lana received several hang up calls, which is not a very common occurrence at our store in the middle of the night. So she called the police who came and checked out the situation and escorted Lana to her car.

Now I cannot say with any certainty what was or was not going on that night. But what I can say for certain is that Amy and Lana took proactive steps to protect themselves AND others, while I just went on my troubled way, not even giving a thought to the woman still inside, who would be leaving by herself. It never occurred to me to call Lana, it never occurred to me to call the police, because I was too busy thinking about the deeper philosophical issues of poverty and crimes of desperation to make any actual attempt to prevent one from happening!!

All I have to say is, thank God for women with street smarts who know how to react in a crisis, and may I absorb just a tiny bit of their common sense in the days to come!

There is a fine line between reasonable and unreasonable requests in a restaurant, and guests can’t always be expected to know on which side of the line a particular request will fall.  So here are a few real life examples of the kinds of behaviors that will and won’t make you the topic of mockery in the kitchen.

A Reasonable Request: Asking for ketchup, ranch dressing, honey mustard and any other condiment that your little heard desires after your food has been brought to the table.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking for ketchup, ranch dressing, honey mustard and any other condiment that your little heard desires – ONE AT A TIME – after your food has been brought to the table, thus forcing your server to make repeated trips back to the kitchen and taking time away from every other table in their section.

A Reasonable Request: Asking for toasted whole wheat bread on your sandwich instead of grilled sour dough.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking for corn  bread muffins that are ‘almost burnt’ on top but still ‘nice and soft’ on the bottom.  Seriously people.  Your before meal bread is NOT made to order.

A Reasonable Request: Asking to switch from the fountain drink you have been drinking to a coffee at no additional charge.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking to switch from the water you have been drinking to a coffee at no additional charge.

A Reasonable Request: Asking for a slice of onion to eat with your pinto beans.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking your server to chop that slice of onion into tiny pieces so you can sprinkle it over your pinto beans. I’m all for making guests happy, but seriously!? How hard is it to use your own knife….would you like me to cut your meat up for you too?

A Reasonable Request: Ordering a salad or a vegetable plate and asking your server to put a rush on it.

An Unreasonable Request: Ordering a well done sirloin and asking your server to put a rush on it.  It doesn’t matter how fast the line cooks move, they can’t speed up time and make your meat cook faster.

A Reasonable Request: Asking your server for a free desert on your birthday.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking your server for a free dessert on your half birthday, your dog’s birthday, or the anniversary of the day you lost your first tooth.

Yes. It’s happened.

A Reasonable Request: Asking to speak to a manager because the restaurant is out of the Sunday special on a Sunday.

An Unreasonable Request: Asking to speak to a manager because the restaurant is out of  the Sunday special on a Thursday.

A Reasonable Request: Showing up an hour before the restaurant closes and expecting to enjoy a leisurely meal while having all of your needs attended to by a friendly server.

An Unreasonable Request: Showing up a minute and a half before the restaurant closes and expecting to enjoy a leisurely meal while having all of your needs attended to by a friendly server.

Be Honest.

No matter what you do for a living, if you have finished all your work and you are set to walk out the door, you are PISSED if you all the sudden learn you will have to stay late. Of course in the restaurant industry there is an easy remedy for this particular predicament: Acknowledge the inconvenience you have caused and make it worth your server’s while!

So that’s all I can think of off the top of my head. But I’m willing to bet that with a little prompting, Amy over at ACES Wild can probably think of a few more.  After all, she has been at this for about twelve years now!

As a general rule, I try not to mock people.  I tend to see the good in everyone I meet and I genuinely enjoy the little idiosyncrasies that make us all unique.

Oh wait….

That’s not me, that’s my mother.

Lets try this one:

As a general rule, I find people annoying.  Particularly people who impose their crazy on me in the midst of an already crazy situation.

Yup.

That one sounds more like it.

Example: Last week I was at work when a well dressed, middle age couple sat in my section. Even in the midst of our dinner rush, it took me all of two seconds to realize the woman was going to be one of those ‘guests’ who did everything in her power to convince me she was an idiot.

As soon as the host left the table she stood up and relocated herself to another table by the window.  Her obliging husband collected their menu’s and followed suite. Now for those of you who have never worked in a restaurant, allow me to explain why the practice or reseating yourself is so very annoying.

Every server has a section of tables to which he or she is assigned at the beginning of the shift.  Hosts seat those sections (in theory) on a rotation. At least in our establishment, your host will ask you if the table he has offered is to your satisfaction before he seats you.  This is your first opportunity to express your desire to sit somewhere else. Your second opportunity is moments later when your server comes to the table and asks how you are doing.  At that point, he or she should be more than happy to move you to another table if you so desire.

However, if you instead allow the host to seat you and then move yourselves before your server greets you, you mess up the seating chart. The host no longer knows whose section is sat, nor does he know to reseat the server whose section you were originally supposed to sit in. This potentially causes one server to be double or triple sat, while another has no tables and is working for a mere $2.17 an hour.

That’s right.  I said $2.17.

I have a sneaking suspicion that there is an entire generation of people who are convinced servers make the standard minimum wage. It’s the only explanation for those elderly couples who go on and on about how excellent your service was, and then leave a dollar in quarters on a $28 check.

Anyway, back to the crazy lady. As soon as I walked up to the table the woman curtly informed me that she had no silverware. I made an obvious glance back at the rolled silverware that was still lying neatly on table where she was originally seated. As she stared blankly back at me, I thought better of allowing the sarcastic comment that was on the tip of my tongue to escape, and instead silently retrieved the silverware.

Like I said, I work on tips.

I then took the couple’s drink orders, and the woman made her first complaint about the temperature of the dining room. “Its absolutely freezing in here!” She announced indignantly.  “I mean, like, arctic….and YOU,” she said accusingly, “have got the ceiling fans on!”

“Let me see what I can do about that for you,” I replied obligingly.  I then hurried off to the kitchen to fetch the couple’s drinks and turn off the fans for the one cold person in a dining room full of perfectly content guests.

When I returned, I noticed several people staring at my table. As I got closer I realized what was attracting their attention.  The woman now had a thin paper napkin draped over her head and she was shivering dramatically.  Her husband seemed surprisingly oblivious to the crazy.

She pointed up to the fans, which had not even completely stopped spinning yet, and insisted that it hadn’t done the trick.  She then rose, (napkin hat still in place) marched herself across the dining room, and sat down on the hearth of our over-sized fireplace.

At this point I still had to take their food order. So I was left with no choice but to take the man’s order at the table and his crazy fire hazard of a wife’s order at the hearth. Both chose from the children’s menu and both had multiple ’special’ instructions for their food.

Eventually Napkin Head returned to the table, placed her ‘hat’ in her lap, and ate her food without further incident.

Their check came to $17, and they left $1.10 in change on the end of the table.

I have a confession, er, statement….proclamation?  Anyway, I have something to say:

I really love being a server.

I know. Its not that spectacular an admission.  Lots of people love their jobs.  Lots of people feel fulfilled and challenged at least some of the time in their work place.  But I guess the thing that strikes me as extraordinary about this particular job is that its not something I imagined I would be doing, let alone enjoying at this stage of my life.

But I am.  I love the immediate gratification of collecting tips off of tables. I love how physical the job is.  The time passes so quickly and the work seems so satisfying when I am in constant motion.  I love the opportunity to meet and talk to all kinds of people with whom I would not otherwise cross paths, both in the dining room and in the kitchen. I love that every interaction with a table of guests, fellow server, line cook, manager and dishwasher is an opportunity to make somebody smile.

I know.  That sounds so uncharacteristically social of me.  But maybe therein lies the core of why I love this job so much.

Serving tables forces me out of my comfort zone.  There is no opportunity for putting on airs when you are wearing a brown apron and serving biscuits and gravy.  And that in and of itself is freeing.  I’m not there to impress, I’m there to serve, which makes it easier for me to get out of the way and ask God to shine through me.  It is by no means glamorous work.  And some might think its a poor use of a college education.  But what I am learning is that its a crucial part of my life education.

I know serving isn’t for everyone.  And I know its one of those jobs (like changing diapers and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches) that doesn’t always seem very significant.  But I think it fits in perfectly with what God is teaching me about eternal significance during this season of my life.