On Waiting Tables

I've got about ten minutes before I have to head off to work for the day. For the record, I love my job. My coworkers make every day a good day to be at work, customers are, for the most part, very pleasant, and of course the food is delicious. What I'd like to talk about though is my qualifying statement "for the most part."

It takes a whole lot to get under my skin. I'm very easygoing and few people have really seen my angry. That being said, I would like to tell you how absolutely livid I was last night. It was a pretty typical Friday night: the restaurant was full, everyone had something to do. In short, we were rather busy. One table, table number 112, had just sat down and I'd brought their drinks out, put in their order, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. Yet for some reason the man (it was an older couple) was very short and irritated with me. When you've worked in a restaurant long enough, you come to accept the fact that some people go out to eat expecting the service to be poor. Annoying, yes, but just something we all deal with.

Okay, granted, I did forget their straws when I brought their drinks out and had to make an extra trip.

After I apologized and brought their straws to the table, I went to one of my other tables and started my usual speech, "Hi, how are you two doing tonight? I'm Rachel, and I'm going to be taking care of you. Can I get you started with something to drink?"

However, before I'd gotten to their drink order, this other table, table 112, whistled at me to get my attention. The same kind of whistle dog owners use to command their dogs. Shocked, I looked over at them and the guy motioned with his finger for me to come over.

They wanted their cornbread out before the meal.

For the record, I have been that angry on very few occasions. For one, whistling to get my attention is unacceptable. For two, it is especially unacceptable to interrupt a server who is talking to another table.

I didn't spit in their food, but darn it I was tempted to.