Saturday, July 26, 2008
The Verbal Tip
Every server knows it, every server dreads it. He busts his ass for you: gets you everything you need, the food is done perfectly, your forty eight modifications were all entered and served properly, your soda/beer/water/mixed drink/whatever was refilled before you thought to ask, he was kind, courteous and helpful, and you had a great time. Which is wonderful, that's a big reason we do what we do, I want you to enjoy your meal and leave with a smile. At the end of the meal you tell the manager what an excellent job your server did, maybe you even write him a nice little note on your credit card slip. Right next to that ten percent tip. Great, awesome, that's just fucking super, I'm so glad you enjoyed your meal and the service, but you know what? That nice little note, those kind words, guess what? Compliments and appreciation don't pay my bills. I can't use those happy thoughts to buy myself a drink. In fact, that shit is pretty fucking worthless. I know times are tough, I get it. Believe me I get it, but if you go out to eat and have a wonderful time and the service was excellent, write your note directly underneath the twenty percent tip you cheap fuck.
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2 comments:
At the beginning of my shift this morning a group walked on to the patio and proceeded to seat themselves. Irksome practice no. 1. I am charged with speaking to them about the matter and subsequently bringing them menus. As I am returning with said menus, one of the women complains to me that she can smell gas coming from the heating lamp (which was turned off) and could I do something about it because they have a newborn with them. I offer to relocate them to another table and to utilize umbrellas to substitute for the shade. The first gentleman becomes emphatic that it will still be too hot for the infant. I suggest inside. Now the couple with the dog speaks up. But the second gentleman quickly acquiesces and decides to just take the mutt home. I see this group inside (the mother, the father, the infant,the son who is about 6 and a touch snarky, and the wife/dog owner). Once inside, I offer their choice of seating arrangement, wanting to be done with this circus as soon as possible. But now the first gentleman (dad) has qualms. The women are exasperated. The kid is doing summersaults in my restaurant and this fool is hemming and hawing. I give them a few minutes to huddle since I have nothing better to do at this point. He goes outside to survey the scene again as I smile benevolently. He's found a spot that will please him. It's in the cocktail area where we don't serve or seat people during the day. But wanting to see the end of this Gilbert and Sullivan Opera, I conceded to seat them there and serve them myself. Service goes smoothly. I split the checks between the dog couple and the kid&infant couple. The women have praised me for my patience, the overly demanding gentleman has been accommodated in every possible way. And what does that fuck face tip me? $4 on $30. The fellow who had to take his pooch home and come back tipped me twice that on $20! I swear I wanted to slap that horse's ass upside the head with the check presenter. Are you fucking serious right now!? If your server has gone above and beyond to accommodate your ridiculous demands, you best be prepared to tip and tip well. And that is why your server hates you.
Well said Ash. Well said.
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