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.