The tales and complaints of a modern restaurant worker.
By Alec Thomas
I’m willing to bet that most of the people reading this article right now have been inside a restaurant before. I’m also willing to bet that, at least if you are in high school still, that you probably have never worked in a restaurant, but have most likely heard many tales from the workers in one. Well, take a seat (and as I write this, I realise most of you are going to be sitting, unless you stand at your computer for some odd reason) and read the great tales of a truly passive aggressive restaurant Host–me.
And God, I hate some of our regulars on To-Go’s. You know, the cheap old ones? And you have to make sure the order is an early dining special, that way it’s cheaper. And then to put the cherry on top—they don’t ever tip. And I’m really not sure if it’s just that they don’t know if they can tip, or they just don’t want to. But I mean it’s fine, they’ll either contract Alzheimer’s or they’ll just die in a few years, so who’s going to care anyway? KIDDING. Well, kind of. They’ll still die, though, that’s definitely true.
Or my favorite are the people that are completely appalled at the fact that they’ve been waiting over their quoted wait time. They sort of act like I just reenacted the Holocaust in front of them (no, it’s okay, I’m Jewish). Not even to mention that being rude and impatient only makes you look like a bigger asshole (Yes, Person, that’s a quarter) to everyone else around you.
It honestly surprises me that some people still manage to think at this basic level of generic and easy to understand thinking. It’s just inconceivable. Like when there’s a small line to get your name on the wait list at the restaurant. They don’t ever get passed that first level of third grade thinking of “I was first! Someone shouldn’t cut in line because that’d be unfair to me!”
At one point during a Saturday night, I had a few people waiting in line so they could get a pager. Next to me was an old lady, maybe 60 or 70 years old, and next to her is a mother, maybe 40 years old, and her child. Out of habit, I just went to answer the old lady first, since she was to my leftmost side, and as I begun to talk to the lady, the mother interrupts.
“EXCUSE ME, WE WERE FIRST.” But the old lady doesn’t stop talking, since I was addressing her. “EXCUSE ME, WE WERE FIRST.” Like Jesus Christ mom, what the hell? She’s old, dude – you don’t interrupt anyone so rudely, regardless of their age. I’m always wishing I could just stop them for a moment and simply ask, “What the hell is one minute of waiting time going to change when we’re on an hour wait?”
It’s just completely mind boggling and frustrating that I’m 18 years old and sometimes I feel like I’m smarter than some of the feeble minded imbeciles that walk in.
Or let’s go to people that just straight up don’t know the definitions of things. Specifically, let’s talk about the difference between high chairs and booster seats. If you ask for a high chair, it’ll takes approximately 47 seconds to grab from the back corner of the restaurant and install onto your table (yes, I’ve timed it), as opposed to the booster seat that takes maybe 10 seconds at a maximum to throw onto the booth. No, your four year old child will probably not fit in a high chair; those are for babies.
Or better yet, the people that don’t actually request a high chair or booster seat until they’ve already been sat. Yes, the high chairs clip onto the table, meaning that you all have to get up from the table. No I can’t put it on the end, ma’am, that’s what we call a fire hazard. People can die just because your lazy bum was too distracted with your phone to tell me that you needed one before you were sat.
The worst, however, is the people that don’t have a sense of patience. I seriously have people all the time that will complain they’ve waited over their given quote time and will start talking to management about it. Yes, I got you sat as soon as possible, but you’re also the same person who is under the other five people on the list that are also waiting over their quote. You just have the literal patience of a five year old, so I only sat you down so you’d get out of my face, since honestly, no one needs that stress in their life.
My all time favorite, though? The single handedly favorite type of people that we encounter are the people that don’t think their babies are people. They’ll say “Party of four” when they first arrive, and no one thinks anything of it. Then when they get to sit down, they suddenly have a baby that comes out of nowhere that they need a place to put. That’s what we call a party of five, not four. And then these people will actually try to argue with me. I’m sorry, is your baby not a person? Does it not breathe, have a heartbeat, or have basic human rights? Does it not occupy space at a table? Do you need that space for a car seat? Did you want to tell us this at any point, or did you think that the carseat would just sit on the table with all of you? Or maybe it will just sit underneath the table with all the spilled drinks and food?
Hopefully, for those of you who have never worked in a restaurant, I’ve taught you something. So when you go to a restaurant, tip well, be patient, understand basic definitions of accommodations, and for God’s sake, know that your baby is a person.
Also, this is totally me.