Now here is a story for you that is sadly a daily occurrence in the world of food service. When I first saw them, they blended right in with the crowd. I did not think anything of them. They were standing in the lobby with the rest of the fishes in the sea that is the Cheesecake Factory lobby. Waiting their turn to be seated just like everyone else. But wait, what is this? As I'm looping through the front of the restaurant, I notice this couple talking to, or more like yelling at one of the hostesses. Now this hostess, I know, does not take anyone's shit and is very good at her job.
"Sir, you're going to have to wait just like the other parties. As soon as your table is ready you will be seated, I promise you," She said.
"Well, you told me 45 minutes and it's bee-"
"I have it on my screen here I quoted you an hour about 36 minutes ago, sir. Please, if you wouldn't mind stepping aside so I can seat the party behind you," She said with a smile.
"Fine. But If it takes any longer than...."
His voice trailed off as I briskly walked past them with a tray full of drinks. I really hoped they were not going to sit in my section. I always wondered if people feel better about themselves after yelling at someone else. Especially in this context. I mean, there was a 45+ year old man raising his voice at a twenty something year old girl about half his size! And she is on the clock! The audacity some people have, I say! So, thirty minutes of chaos later and I of course, guess who is seated in my section, menus down, frown on.
“Hello! Good evening my name is-“ I was cut short by
“We aren’t ready yet. Just some waters for now.” The man stated without hesitation or looking up from his menu.
“Absolutely!” I said, with perhaps just a little too much enthusiasm and a huge smile across my face.
When I brought their waters, the man ordered food, and again without looking up from his menu. When the food arrived, thankfully he had nothing to complain about, until right at the end when he had only a few bites left.
“The mashed potatoes were too salty and my veggies were dry,” he stated as I approached him to offer dessert.
“But sir, you’ve finished your meal,” I began.
“Oh really? Let me speak with your manager!” he demanded.
That’s when my patience ran out. I spit in his face and screamed,
“You get the damn manager yourself, you piece of sh-“
No, no. I am only joking. There was no spitting involved. I was forced to get my manager and after some back and forth, we comped his entire dinner and bought him dessert. Of course, he left no tip.
That man will never know how utterly terrible he is as a person. He will live the rest of his life going out to eat and forcing himself to have a bad time. And you know what? Let him. Let him live his sad, lonely life being an asshole to the people that serve him food. If there is one thing being a server has taught me, it is that karma is real. So, don't be a terrible human, and always tip twenty percent.
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