I like it. My management team took me out to my regular Thai restaurant once to celebrate something or other. The waiter took their orders, then just looked at me. I nodded ever so slightly. He nodded back, and that was the order.
Kinda messed with my boss’ head.
ETA: I also get comped like a madman at several places right around where I live. I’ll take it.
I’m not particularly outgoing, and it would probably seem weird to me if the staff tried to strike up a personal conversation. But I get a warm fuzzy whenever I walk into the Indian restaurant by my office and the owner is manning the register, because it’s always, “Hello, SCSimmons! Chicken vindaloo, spicy, yes?” The last bit doesn’t happen to me at other places–like rachellelogram, I really prefer to change up my orders & not fall into ruts. But this guy makes such a damn good vindaloo … The only exception I can think of is a special-order dessert my wife and I like to order from a chain restaurant near here. It’s a mix & match of ingredients from two different desserts on their menu, and virtually every time we order it, either the server, a dining partner, or someone at an adjoining table, comments on how good it sounds; one waiter there now offers it to us whenever we eat there & he has our table. Honestly, that’s really nice, because we don’t have to explain what we’re asking for.
I love it when this happens! I once managed to conduct an entire business transaction with the waitress at my favorite Malaysian Chinese hole-in-the-wall in two words: “Keski?” “Keski.” -> the medium-spicy curry chicken I love arrived at the table in approximately three minutes. They have a lunch menu which shifts around a bit, but every Thursday is lemon chicken Thursday, and that’s always what we have. We once got our orders in front of us less than a minute after we walked in because “It’s 12:30, we figured you’d be here any minute now”. (They’ve also shown us our holiday photos and once insisted on packing a ginger chicken soup home with me because I sounded like I was coming down with a flu.)
THAT is customer service.
I don’t mind being a regular at eating or drinking establishments, to an extent, as I was a waiter at one time who had my own regulars, and that is sort of a mixed bag there from the waiting and tending side… it can be good and bad, depending… sometimes it resembles groundhog day the movie in practice.
But I really sometimes get a sense of overwhelming anxiety or doom having to face locally frequented cashiers at convenience stores or groceries, I hate the routine and don’t usually make too much small talk and apparently my body language or presence indicates how uncomfortable I am, as they usually don’t engage me all that much. I also often have to split my purchases and pay for certain items separately as I run errands for my Mother, and that is always embarrassing no matter how often I’ve done it… and I’m sure they all know me as the guy who “pays separate” or “rings up a split”… the worst and most inconveniencing attention I can think of in the retail business to cashiers and customers… and I have to be that guy. I will always try to respond and engage if any of them try to strike up a conversation, but I suck at it.
What I really don’t understand and think is the height of rudeness is the habits of one guy I know and several others I’ve seen, I like to think of them as “serial stalking regulars”. They go to the same convenience or groceries on a regular basis just to hit up the female cashiers, they’ll lurk around for hours sipping coffee and reading newspapers and basically making small talk with the cashiers. To me this is harassing the cashiers and interfering with their service/work. It would wear on me if I were some of these women trying to do my job.
The spouse and I are regulars at a particular pizza place–we’ve been going there for years, and we always order the same thing. I’ve noticed that over the years our pizza has been getting decided more impressive (we order a small with canadian bacon, but what we end up with is getting closer to a large with huge amounts of cheese–we love it, though I’ve been occasionally tempted to ask them to tone down the size a bit since that’s a lot of pizza. There’s one particular cook/pizza maker who knows us, and he makes the best pizzas so we make sure to go when he’s working. He’ll start putting together our pizza the minute we walk in the door. Also, the counter man (I think he’s the manager, possibly one of the owners) always remembers our order, gets our drinks ready, and occasionally “comps” us for drinks. I tip very well every week–I just love having a place where we’re known and appreciated like that.
One sad thing–this week I went in like usual to order our weekly pizza and I saw behind the counter an “in loving memory” pic of one of the other counter folks–a really nice young woman who was always cheerful, friendly, and had a great sense of humor–and she too always remembered my order. She’d been killed in a car accident the previous weekend…only 24 years old. I was stunned. I don’t cry easily in public, but tears came to my eyes when I saw that. The manager gave me a hug. I felt terrible.
We’re regulars at a really great restaurant downtown, but they don’t memorize our orders or anything. One, because their menu changes 5-6 times a year, so they don’t always have the same things; and two, we don’t always order the same stuff anyway. Though they do know our preferences. We like it.
They know me at a few stores in town. Hardware store, a pizza place, gas station, and a cafeteria.
The greeting as I come in is always nice. Gets a little awkward if they comment that I haven’t been in for awhile.
I go to the same Kroger for grocerys. I never seem to get the same cashier very often. I always feel like a stranger even after 15 years.
Sure, I like it well enough.
I get breakfast at the Tim Horton’s by my work every day, and (particularly if I haven’t had any coffee yet,) I am happy to skip over the bit where I say “I’d like a bacon breakfast sandwich on a homestyle biscuit, a hash brown, and a large, black coffee,” and can instead just say “Yes, thanks,” or “Yes, please, and also a medium double-double and a chocolate danish” or some-such.
I do make varied orders at the sushi place I always go to, but the consistent bit is always ready for me before I’ve finished ordering and paying. (#2 has poured a Kirin for me.) I appreciate that.
There are a few restaurants that Mrs G and I frequent that recognize us as regulars. It’s quite common that we’ll get free desserts or appetizers given, even an occasional free cocktail.
Once I was a regular at a Blimpie, pretty much always ordered the same thing, and a female employee kept making me huge sandwiches with more meat piled on than bread.
A couple of years later we ran into each other under other circumstances and eventually began dating. She told me the overstuffed sandwiches had been her attempt at flirting with me.
God, I’m clueless.
I answered, “Yes…”
But there are times when I may not want to be recognized, and I am not quite sure how to approach that.
This is weird. I’m amazed that so many dopers have regular food orders. The only thing I’m ever predictable about is my takeout coffee. And even then I’m unpredictable about whether I’ll buy it or where I buy it.
But reading the subject line of the OP reminded me of a pleasant thing we had going several years ago. We were living in the burbs with one decent Chinese restaurant within driving distance and we did become regulars there. One night my daughter - probably about six years old at the time - seemed to charm the owner of the place and he was joking around with her every time he came to the table. Then he gave us a free dish. Of course I included the estimated cost of the dish in my tip and so wound up giving a 25% tip.
And thus it started. Every time we came we got a “free” dish and they got a 25% tip. I loved it! The high point was one night as we drove up we saw a line of people out the front door. We parked and I went in to ask how long the wait would be. Turns out there were some kitchen guys chopping beans or something at a table. When the owner saw me he kicked them out of the dining area, put down a tablecloth and voila, we were seated.
Unfortunately, he sold the place and the new management sucked, but it was great while it lasted. And getting back to the theme of this thread, they never assumed we were getting the regular, because there was no regular order.
And can I add that writing down this story has made me very happy.