Table Tales: A Loaded Potato (WIP)

            Waiting tables is a great job for a college student. It's flexible, and for someone without a degree it offers the most money for the time worked. For instance, on an average Friday night, I can work 5 - 6 hours and make $250 cash. Sunday brunch today yielded me a whopping $107 and on a busy Thursday lunch I'll work for about 3 hours and walk with $60. I've waited tables on and off for almost twelve years. When I was in New York, the cost of living was so high that I worked during the day at an advertising agency and waited tables at night. This afforded me a one bedroom of my own on Harlem's Westside and enough for living expenses, but I knew many aspiring actors and musicians that served full time and made enough to share a shady 8th floor walk-up efficiency in the west village and still party like it was 1999.

Alas, though waiting tables can be lucrative it is a thankless job. You really get to see the worst in people when you serve them food. Our tipping system is such that people feel entitled to your abject service and you become their whipping post. Not enough butter with the bread? Outrageous! There goes $2.00 off of your tip. What? This restaurant doesn't have pancakes, pork roast, pickled herring, etc. Well, never mind that it's not on the menu, I am a paying customer and I am taking $3.00 off of your tip. Omigod, my steak is too rare! I don't care that you, waitress, didn't cook it. I don't care that you are making me another one and I don't care that you graciously took it off of the bill; you don't get any tip at all. It's a cold brutal world out there in the service industry but someone has got to do it. Someone has to brave those hungry leisure diners and make sure that they have a pleasant dining experience. That someone is me.

Of course, not everyone is so horribly irrational and rude. Today I waited on a kindly older couple. I liked them as they were patient and unassuming. Generally, senior citizens are among the worst tippers. I don't know if they are unaware that it is no longer the 1950's and that a quarter doesn't get me far, or maybe they are on a fixed income and the verbal tip is all they have to offer but either way, I can usually count on a solid 13-16% tip from my grandparent's contemporaries. I don't hold it against them. I still try to give good service. But it is disheartening to run your ass off for so little reward.

    Anyway, I had this nice elderly couple in my section but I also had two large parties of eight to serve so to be honest, they didn't get as much loving attention from me as they could have. They received their drinks on time. Their food came out hot and I didn't forget their special side order of fried onions. I did check back once to make sure that the food was tasty but that was it. That is the bare minimum. I ran their credit card, thanked them sincerely, and forgot about them. Later, I discovered that on a $35.00 tab, the precious older gentleman left me $45.00. Ten bucks on thirty five is a great tip and I felt like dog poo for not hugging them and asking them about their lives and telling her what a great blouse she was wearing. Incidentally, my two parties left me about 17% apiece.

            I have many, many stories from the restaurant biz but I'll just share one right now. I was newly dating someone and had invited him to come visit me at my restaurant with the promise of free food and a chance to see me in my maid's uniform. That is what I wear at this classy downtown establishment. It was slow when he came in and I lavished him and his friend with attention and smiles. They received all sorts of special perks, including extra shots of rum (he liked rum and cokes - go figure), special salads and a loaded baked potato. For those of you not in the know, a loaded baked potato usually includes a baked potato stuffed with butter, sour cream, melted cheese, bacon bits and chives. Our restaurant doesn't offer it. The cooks have to specially melt the cheese and dice the bacon and unless you have some pull or a manager orders it, you don't get it.

            All was going well until the party from hell came in and sat in my section. There are certain types of people that a server just knows will be high maintenance for a little or nothing in return. There was a hairdresser's convention in town - yes, a hairdresser's convention - and these nine ladies must have been the cream of the crop. Their ages ranged from 21-32 (I know because I carded them) and they were sporting pounds of gel, hairspray and make-up. Cleavage abounded and skirts and heels were high. They were mean, demanding and dissatisfied with everything. I could do no right. These types of women are generally pretty catty and competitive and given that I was near their age I received the full force of their ire even though I was in a subordinate and servile position. One of the girls ordered a bollini, which is our cheap pinot grigio, there was a couple of vanilla vodka and diets and a couple of orders for strawberry daiquiris.

"I am sorry," I explained, "we don't do blended drinks nor do we have frozen strawberries. This is more of a martini and Manhattan type of restaurant."

I got a few blank stares and some bitchy mutterings and then the daiquiri girls ordered frozen margaritas. I am not kidding. They ordered this just after I said, we don't do blended drinks. I apologized, mentioned again our lack of a blender and suggested some wine, perhaps a white zinfandel. No! They didn't want wine, duh, or else they would have asked for that. Finally they ordered some fuzzy navels and sex on the beach. 

       When I returned with the drinks I found out that the girl who had ordered a Bollini pinot grigio had actually wanted a Bellini, which is peach juice and champagne. She was disgusted at my incompetence and her evening was totally ruined.

    "I am sorry," I said, "we don't have peach juice. I can get you a mimosa." No, ew, she didn't want a mimosa. After many alternative suggestions she finally settled on a Bacardi cocktail - a disgusting concoction involving rum, grenadine and pineapple juice - and proceeded to talk about what a horrible waitress they had.

Food ordering was worse. They ordered the most expensive menu items but modified beyond belief. One lady wanted the scallop pasta but with no pasta and mixed with the vegetables from another dish sauteed in an alfredo sauce. We don't have alfredo sauce. "I am sorry," I said, "I can't serve what we don't have." More bitchy mutterings.

I was getting fed up with these girls. I was being nice, and trying my hardest with what was available. There really is only so much that one can take. Serving has taught me patience but even I have a limit.
            Finally the last couple of girls ordered steaks. They wanted mashed potatoes. We don't have mashed potatoes. It says on the menu what our potato options are, and mashed freakin' potatoes aren't listed.

"I am sorry;" I said for the 10,000th time, "we don't have mashed potatoes. Would you like a baked potato?"

Fine. She'll take a baked potato, but she wants a loaded baked potato. She says she wants extra cheese and bacon.

"I am sorry," this would be the 10,001st time I said it, "I only have sour cream and butter. I'll bring that." Nope, not good enough. She pointed over at my new lover's table and said, "He's got a loaded baked potato. God, who do you have to sleep with to get a loaded baked potato around here?"

            I looked over at my new guy and he gave me a sympathetic shrug. I turned to the girl and said, "Me. And you aren't getting one."

I knew they wouldn't have tipped me anyway.