The tipping thread got me thinking about this.
Many people have no idea how often waitstaff are at the mercy of incompetent management who understaff, psychotic cooks who won’t give them their orders, hostesses who don’t know how to manage a dining room, etc.
What are your worst experiences working in food/beverage service?
I’ll start with one.
I worked in a place where to boss knew the cook was whacked out of his mind on drugs but didn’t care. Sometimes he’d be in a weird mood and wouldn’t give the waitresses their food, which left them in the position of having to placate customers who were waiting while he decided he was good and ready to get their orders done.
The other cook had waitresses she didn’t like, and if they worked during her shift they were just screwed.
One day a waitress went to the kitchen to get extra bread/rolls for a customer and the second cook chased her out with a knife. She liked me, so I had to go in and get the damn bread for her. Ridiculous.
The boss never did anything about this stuff, just expected the wait staff to somehow find a way to reason with these nutbars.
Aw man, I was just thinking about this incident a few days ago. Now I have a place to share.
I worked at a restaurant that had a soup & salad bar. Two older ladies came in, and wanted to split an entree. The entree happened to come with the soup & salad bar, and I informed them that one of them could have it, or for an extra $x, I could add another one on. Or for just an extra $y, I could bring out just a plain house salad.
Now, even though most reasonable people should be able to grasp that, since this is an all-you-can-eat salad bar, the price is only for one person. Apparently they didn’t, and weren’t happy about this. I eventually bring the manager out. After a few minutes, he finally relents and lets them both have the salad bar for no extra charge.
They fill up their plates, and graze some, and then their entree is up. I take it out, extra plate and all. But of course they weren’t satisfied. Obviously 20 minutes wasn’t enough time for them to finish their salad. And now their dinner is going to get cold before they can touch it. At this point, I don’t really care. I’m pretty sure they’d made up their mind not to leave a tip before they touched the front door. I semi-politely tell them that it’s not exactly my problem and let them be. They finish their plates, and I take them away, leaving them the check. And then the request takeout boxes.
I stare blankly. I look at their empty table. “…what?”
Apparently they still weren’t grasping the whole “all you can eat” thing. I can only imagine they haven’t dined out in a few decades.
So, speaking slowly, and using small words, I explain that the salad bar was dine-in only. And they already had their share. And, as if it is somehow relevant, they explain that they didn’t have a chance to finish their salads before their dinner came out. I point out that it didn’t seem to hinder their eating. And if they would like to continue eating, we’re open for another 4 hours. The manager (who really was a nice guy, but would rather get the customers out the door as quietly as possible) intervenes, sensing my rising annoyance levels from across the dining room. He lets them have all the takeout boxes they’d like, including a couple of soup containers (pay attention, as this is important).
So, after 5 minutes of filling their boxes to the brim, they pay at the register. And the manager asks if they needed help with their boxes, which they rudely decline. And as one of them goes to open the door, the ill-balanced soup container teeters backwards and spills all over her shirt. Exasperated, she again declines help (and an offer of napkins/paper towels to clean up) and leaves in a huff, her companion right behind her.
And as they get in their car, the manager and I crack up.
Reminds me of a Kids in the Hall Sketch. (About 2:30 in) “I’m afraid there’s no hot food. It seems the chef isn’t speaking to me again this evening.”
oh gawd, if only these crazy bastards had not spoken to us. I ended up walking out of that place one day mid-shift when knife-girl decided she didn’t like me any more.
I’m not about to throw down over fucking food and a measly $3 tip.
Oooh…this was awful. My customers were great, but I was having an awful night.
I had a horrible non-tipping section when I was cocktailing, and this one couple was the only table that was tipping. I don’t remember what they were drinking, but a nearby table had frozen strawberry daiquiris, and I stopped to drop off my drinks at the tipping table first.
This was a casual place where we wore bar towels on our belt loops, which is important later.
I was putting the man’s drink down when I stumbled on something someone had tossed on the floor, and a strawberry daiquiri landed right in his lap. Reflexively, I grabbed my bar towel and stuck my hand right in his lap. :smack: I instantly recoiled, but the damage was done.
His date *eventually *calmed down.
Probably my worst night was as a dining room supervisor.
The bartender and I had to break up a knock-down-drag-out between one of my waiters and the kitchen supervisor. It took a 6’2" bartender, a very large dishwasher and me to get both of them out of the restaurant during a busy Saturday dinner hour. I fired the waiter and my manager fired the kitchen supervisor, but honestly…:rolleyes:
I was a barmaid for a bit. I liked it. It was social and diverting and kept me out of trouble, mostly.
My only peeve was when, at the end of a thousand-hour shift and having thrown Stella down my blouse for the duration, some fuckwit says “Oh, and get the landlord a drink as well”. Mate, Russ owns the bar. He has all the beer. I’m on five pound ten an hour which I might eventually save up for a can of warm Tizer, also nobody’s trying to look down the landlord’s top when he reaches for peanuts. Perhaps, possibly, your generosity could be directed more to the business end of the great British sticky pub experience and not at the millionaire at the end of the bar who, yes, already has a flipping drink and could get more if he fancied, because he owns the bar.
That’s not a major thing, but it was always pretty depressing at at sweaty, beery three in the morning.
Can you explain this phrase? What is Stella?
Presumably Stella Artois.
Well, I had a tree year old rob me while I was hostessing (the kid’s parents weren’t keeping tabs on her, she went in the hostess stand, where my purse was, took my phone out and started playing with it… calling my parents in IL!), as a bartender, I had people try to beat me up for cutting them off, I’ve had a stalker, a kid throw up on me (and the parents only left me a 10% tip because I “disappeared” for a while… I was cleaning up their kids puke on my clothes!), and so much more. After a while, it stops being anything unusual. Just another day, another jerk.
Er… who’s problem is it then? I agree with the rest of your story, they were being difficult, but honestly, if you bring out the entree before they’re done with the salad, that’s a service issue, not the folks being too picky.
Huh, I always assumed the “LibDem” bit of BobLibDem was for the British Liberal Democrat party, but I see that there are Liberal Democrats all over the shop, if it stands for that at all. Anyhow, yeah, Stella Artois. Cooking lager! I guess that sentence sounds racy otherwise. raises eyebrow
I never worked as a waiter.
I never worked as a dishwasher.
I never worked as a busboy.
But I did work the counter at one place as an ice-cream scooper/sundae builder. When the dishwasher didn’t show up, which was pretty frequent, I got drafted into filling in because I was responsible. When the busboys couldn’t keep up, I got drafted into busing tables back to the dishwashing station so that I could then wash the dishes.
So I came to be out on the floor busing tables one night when an angry patron grabbed my arm and halted me in mid-stride. “Waiter! I haven’t seen a waiter in 20 minutes, and I’m not going to leave a tip!” he threatened.
“Go right ahead, sir. I’m not a waiter. I’m a busboy, dishwasher, and counterperson, and we NEVER get tips.”
But if they dawdle over their salad, the entree can’t just sit there under the warmers, drying out. And there is no problem with eating your salad at the same time as your entree at home…why would it be a problem in a restaurant, except for the space issue on the table? There is many a time I can’t or don’t want to finish my salad before the entree…I have no problem with eating from both at the same time. In fact, since my gastric bypass, it’s better to be eating salad with my meat, because I’m really not supposed to drink while eating, and salad provides some moisture.
When I waited tables (at Pizza Hut, in the 70’s) I had a little four-year old run his hand up my leg under my dress as I served the table…his daddy thought it was funny and was very proud of him! And one of my very first customers was a woman who thought she smelled bad (that syndrome has been in the news lately) and kept dabbing perfume on while she talked to me about the children’s books she’d authored, that she wouldn’t tell me the titles of…I was never that naive again, I’ll tell you!
We had two guys go into the women’s bathroom, jerk off and break the mirror, then try to run past me to get away…I grabbed the one guy and got dragged along the side of the building before he got away, shredding the sleeve on my uniform on the brickwork…I was never that stupid again!
Ah, the good old days of servitude.
I chose bartending as a youngster because it was fun, hip, chick-magnet, etc.
But as any good w/w knows, sometimes people just don’t show up for a shift. For days.
And so it was one fine day that I found myself waiting tables at TGI Friday’s.
I would do it now and then as a favor to my cow workers. And cash.
Shortly a trio came and was seated. A black man and two black women. (it’s relevant).
Although their order was simple and average, nothing pleased them. This is too hot, too cold, too little, drinks have no alcohol - nothing was right.
No it’s not me. I’ve been doing this for years. Fellow waitrons can confirm that sometimes you just get a table of assholes. See the recent documentary “Waiting” for insight.
Eventually, their ire was raised enough to summon the manager. They went on about how terrible everything was, and Dave reached into his shirt pocket. This is where the fun begins.
As Dave explained one day, he kept a stack of comp cards in his pocket. The top of the deck was complimentary dinners for everyone if he felt any complaints were valid. The bottom of the stack was 1 free dessert with meal purchase that he would dole out if he sensed the customer was just an asshat trying to get over on us by complaining. He often gauged the “apology” based on the customer’s face when he reached into his pocket to get the cards.
Since they started looking smug and smiling at one another, they got the free dessert card.
They stormed off in a huff, and when I went to clear the table I saw they had left the dessert cards and no tip. This was completely expected. Heck, I knew within 90 seconds of meeting them that this would happen. The best part though, was the note. I still have it today. On a napkin they had written “you is a fool. worst yet you a white fool. fuck yo ass.”
It became our catchphrase store-wide for months.
I’d already waited a bit to turn their order in to the kitchen. I probably could have waited longer, but it was always unpredictable determining how long something could take. I’m sure if I’d have waited any longer, they would have complained about how long it took to get out. It was just one of those tables.
Management also wanted orders turned into the kitchen basically as soon as we took it, regardless. One manager even wanted us to drop off checks before their food even came out. The place wasn’t exactly the finest dining.
No, it shouldn’t stay under the warmers. They shouldn’t fire the entree until the patrons are almost done with their salads.
If at all possible, I don’t eat my salad at the same time as the entree at home. Sometimes, you have to, since most people don’t have kitchen staff to time the courses at home. But when I go to a restaurant, that’s part of what I’m paying for - the courses coming out with the correct timing.
I realize in a lot of restaurants, they don’t have the staff available to have the waitress/waiter watching every table and telling the kitchen to fire the entree at the exact precise time. But still, if I’m lingering over salad, and the entree comes, and I politely say that I’m not done with my salad and could you please bring the entree later, if the waitress somehow expresses that that’s MY problem, then yeah, the tip is going down.
That said, I can’t believe it’s THAT hard to time things, because I go to plenty of “bar food” kinds of restaurants where I don’t get my entree before I’m done with my salad, and my husband (who I normally eat out with) is definitely the kind of person who dawdles over a meal. I’m always done with my salad 10 or 15 minutes before he is, and we rarely get the entree too soon.
Heh, yeah I can believe that, from everything else you said about the table.
That sucks. I feel for waitresses/waiters in restaurants where the management goes out of their way to make it an unpleasant experience for the diners.
I’m really not sure about this, from a diner’s perspective. If I have an all-you-can-eat soup and salad bar, then when should the staff bring my food? Should they wait until I’m obviously sitting waiting? How should they know?
If I’m taking my time picking over my soup and salad bar, I wouldn’t think much one way or the other if my entree was brought before I was done.
In my experience in Europe, most places don’t attempt to “synchronize” the serving of entrees for an entire party; entrees are brought to the table once they’re ready. I actually prefer it, but YMMV.
To contribute to the OP, this wasn’t waiting tables but I worked at a Burger King when I was in high school. One busy Friday night I had an incident with a customer while I was working drive-through. I don’t recall what set him off, but for some reason while at the drive-up window, he had started cussing and yelling at me. I told him I wouldn’t wait on him, cancelled his order, gave him his money back, told him to go away and closed the window.
It was a bit unnerving when he actually came into the store threatening to kick my ass. I was like 16 years old and he was a pretty big college student. Luckily my manager backed me up. He said that he had heard the entire exchange and that the customer was to leave the premises or the manager would call the police.