On Waitressing

While mixing Chang’s “special sauce” at a table the other day while waitressing, I couldn’t help but over hear my table’s conversation. It’s not like I understood what they were saying, though, as it was spoken in Arabic. I wanted to ask the ladies what dialect of Arabic they were speaking, to explain that although I’ve taken only one semester of the language, I could at least recognize a couple of the pronouns they were saying. I would have guessed they were speaking Moroccan Arabic, as their exchanges where occasionally checkered with French phrases. But my limited knowledge of people groups who speak French and Arabic would have shown through. For all I knew, they were probably Parisian Arabs. Alas, I said nothing; they were really into their conversation and I was just their waitress. My duty was not to interrogate and possibly offend them, but to make a medium-mild sauce and explain its purpose to complement the chicken and vegetarian lettuce wraps.


At another table, on a separate night, I laughed with my table as we talked about life in the food industry. Before me were two girls my age, one a server at Maggianos. We exchanged harrowing stories about carding people who were clearly over the age of 21, but well under the age of fourty, and their overly offensive reactions to the act. We agreed that it would be better to get a smaller tip than to get fired over not asking the simple question, “Could I please see your ID?” We shared insights into the free things that could be garnered from one another’s restaurants. At the end of the meal, I brought her free packets of sauces, plastic silverware for later, and fortune cookies galore. After handing her back the check, we bid each other goodbye and good luck to all future service industry endeavors. After I bussed a table and only after two minutes had passed, I walked back to their table to pick up the check they left behind. With a grin, I noticed that she left the tip line blank on the credit card receipt, as any server knows to leave a cash tip for another. To my horror, there was no cash in the check presenter. There was no cash on the table. There was no cash beneath the table, nor on the floor.


Today, I had a table with a family of four: two parents with their two young boys. They were a frugal family, ordering waters all around and only also a limited number of the cheapest menu items. I smiled as they reminded me of my family, and how we, too, did the same when we went out to eat when I was little. I made sure to keep their glasses of water full at all times, and to offer extra complimentary cups of rice. At the end of the meal, I brought a dessert tray to present to the table, as I had to do for all tables a part of my job as server, especially with the operating partner managing that day. As the mother slowly realized this dessert tray before her dessert-hungry-sons, she brashly said to me, as if I were a witch trying to lure her Hansel and Gretel, “Oh no you don’t. Absolutely not, not with us.”


Sometimes I luck out and get customers who are really understanding, like for instance, today. Today, a young mother came in with her tiny, adorable daughter and ordered an Arnold palmer, kids water, entrée, and kids fried rice. Throughout the meal, I got her refills, extra napkins, a tablespoon, and anything else she needed. At the end of the meal, she asked for a broom to clean up her daughter’s splatterings on the floor. I told her it was okay as she courteously cleaned fried rice off the table-top as best as she could. I assured her it was not necessary, but she did and at the end of the left over a twenty-percent tip.


Two weeks ago, I had a great conversation with a table; in our exchange, they showed me funny (yet disturbing) pictures of Japanese animals made to look like animals of another species. For instance, they presented me a picture of what looked like a panda, but was really just a bear with dyed fur. After that, we somehow got onto the topic of hedgehogs and they revealed to me that they were breeders. The woman left me her email address and told me to email her for pictures of their hedgehog babies. Near the end of the meal, they called the manager over and sang praises of me that, in my opinion, weren’t entirely due. Regardless, I was grateful and awkwardly did not know how to interact with them for the remainder of the meal.


Usually to close my opening spiel, I tell customers to feel free to ask my any questions they have about the menu or anything else. Around nine or ten P.M. yesterday night at my second to last table, a couple asked me how long I had been working that day. I told them that I had started at 10:30am. With their eyes wide with amazement and full of pity, they made some polite conversation and then ordered their two salads. We made some more polite conversation throughout the meal. At some point, I reordered a frozen margarita that came to their table already separated. As the meal came to an end, I exchanged some fortune cookies for their generous, but not too over-the-top that it was demeaning, gratuity. They walked away getting the food and service they came for and I received appropriate payment for the quality of service I offered.