"Drink your precious wine until you puke your guts out and the sweeping staff carry your carcass away."
"Use the buffet line and keep your yap shut."
Just some of the nicer responses to the column I wrote about overeager servers. Frustrated customers outnumbered irate waiters three to one, but sparks flew from both sides. Diners were fed up with over-intimate waiters interrupting, annoying, "Killing us with service," as well as with "Wait staff who want to become the star of your evening."
One diner writes: "I don't really care what your name is—I assume you will be my waiter as you are standing next to my table with a pad and pencil waiting to take my order."
Another concludes, "If a waitperson can't tell when a customer is through, perhaps a career change is in order."
Most had known wonderful service; waiters who "Never asked ‘how are we doing?' or ‘do you need anything?' because they observed the table and knew. In other words, a pro."
Waiters disagreed. "Your concept of what a server should be is novel at best, as well as arrogant." Furthermore, they scolded, "Servers are not mind readers, much as you would like them to be."
Clearly, I was a pompous jerk: "I can only assume by the way that you view servers as being completely beneath you, that you usually leave much less than the standard gratuity."
They're dead wrong. I've done my share of waiting. A quick examination of the "gratuity" line on my enormous pile of Visa receipts will attest to my respect for the profession. Yet many felt the concept of ego-less serving was demeaning: "Please keep in mind that these people are servERS not servANTS. Just because they are waiting on you is no excuse to be outright rude." I'm not quite sure I get the difference, but I can’t see a reason to be rude to either. One manager has to constantly remind his staff: “humility does no damage to my manhood, self-respect, or job satisfaction. I make my living by being a font of knowledge… and giving that knowledge up when appropriate—like when I am asked!"
In Europe, the profession of waiter is a respectable one. Hell, most people are terrified of the haute cuisine staff in Paris. But America's servers want it clear this is only a temporary gig:
"In the future, be nice to us. We're just humans, doing the best we can and many of us might be having lunch with people like you some day!"
They decried being treated "Like they do not exist as human beings and as intelligent people who are not only integral members of our society, but many of us are or will be great contributors to the arts and humanities of the world."
No doubt. But that's a different role. When you star as Hamlet, I hope you're not going to remind us of the ring-tones included with your new wireless plan.
I expected gripes, but was surprised at the fury and self-righteousness: "I have been rude to those who I believed deserved it, and I have verbally shot customers down when they tried to look impressive for their companions at my expense. No regrets. Woe to diners who dared touch the wine bottle—“Until you've paid the check it's not yours."
Or mistook cordiality for friendship—“Stop inviting us to your house. It's never going to happen. The last thing we want to do on our day off is anything that reminds us of work."
Whence this bitterness, I wondered, plucking another arrow from of my behind. Then I read:
"Your server has no control over temperatures of wine, vintages and glassware—cut them some slack and pass your concerns on to the manager." And: "See how much fun it is to be expected to sell and up-sell at every chance, then be given a two-dollar tip because your customer thought you were ‘obtrusive.'"
Suddenly, I got it. The biggest beefs of customers—from hurry-up table-turning to fireworks that pass for service—are all management decisions. Waiters, caught in the middle, are feeling the squeeze. Imagine squatting on your haunches, scribbling your name in crayon on the placemat as per National Crab-n-Chick's training manual, and finding yourself eye to eye with a connoisseur of fine dining. Or dutifully cramming the day's specials, only to encounter this fellow:
"He had to recite his litany of menu items and cut me off and gave a seemingly endless list of ‘specials,' none of which I wanted. God knows how long it took him to memorize—I was actually impressed—but also annoyed.”
The gulf between what diners want and what management delivers is a puzzlement deserving its own column. Waiters, meanwhile, as the last link between kitchen and mouth, will continue to field the complaints. To those who do it with grace and pride: I salute you.
