Today I am grateful for a flaky waitress. This is a very busy time of year for parties and social events. If you work as a waitress there is probably some overtime involved and I’m not just talking on the job, I’m talking with the foot bath.
I go to lunch with a bunch of women almost every week. This week we decided to go a little more upscale because of Christmas, so our Lunch Lady made reservations at a very nice place. This place isn’t that big and several other groups had large parties, too so it was loud and rowdy and fun.
Our waitress was near our age, which is considerable. Boy, to do that job at this age is no small feat. She hustled over to our table like a whirling dervish on speed and said, “I’ll take drink orders!” Okay, a little curt, but okay. I said the water in front of me was fine.
Her: What?
Me: Water is fine, thank you. Could we have separate checks please?
Her: No. Not today. It’s too busy. I’ll print it out so you can figure it out.
Me: Okay. I understand.
Her: What was I doing?
Me: Drink orders.
Her: Oh right! (She looked to the women on my end of the table and wrote theirs down.)
Lunch Lady: What are your specials?
Her: I’m doing drink orders first, but if you have to go there. . .(She slams her hands on the table and gives the specials.) But I don’t know if you can hear me anyway because of the noise in here. (This was followed by a bunch of “what did she say’s.)
She came back with some of the drinks but forgot others. Off she went. When she took our order everyone was having soup except me.
Her: You’re not having soup?
Me: No, sounds good, but no thank you.
Her: You’re the only one not having soup.
Me: Okay. I’m good with that. Are you good with that?
Her: I guess, but you’re the only one. (I’m a real rebel!)
This was getting very interesting. I couldn’t figure out if I got a kick out of her or if she was driving me nuts and I was invested in deciding which. Then the soup came. Now, in her defense, there were two soups ordered. One was a creamy onion the other a clam chowder. When they were set in front of people they looked exactly the same.
Friend One: I don’t think I ordered this.
Her: You ordered the chowder, right? Or did you order the soup?
Friend One: Chowder, but this doesn’t look like clam chowder.
Her: It is, though. No wait. (She picks up the bowl and looks closely, getting her nose right in there.) I’m not sure. Lemme see yours, cuz you ordered the soup, right?
Friend Two: Yes, the creamy onion soup.
Her: Well this doesn’t look like the onion soup so it must be the chowder. (She switches the bowls between friend one and two. Both look identical.)
Friend Two: These both look the same.
Her: They do. (She snatches them off the table.) I’ll be right back. (Off she goes to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later.)
Her: Okay, hands up, who ordered the chowder. (Hands shot up, like they knew the answer to the big geography question in fourth grade.) This is chowder! (She started putting bowls in front of them.)
Friend Three: I don’t think this is clam chowder. (This is from the other end of the table for 7.)
Her: It is. The problem is they both look alike and I can’t tell the difference.
Friend Four: I cannot eat seafood so I want to be sure before I try mine.
Her: Hang on. I’ll be back. (And off she goes with two bowls. Again. She was her own Keystone Kop routine and our table was her little car.)
At this point I tell Friend Two to stir her soup high so we can determine which it is. We have a sighting of potato and clam. Voila! Clam chowder! What she ordered. Out comes the Auntie Mame of waitresses and starts plopping down correct soups in front of everyone but me.
Her: You didn’t have any!
Me: Good thing! One less to worry about. (She laughs.)
Her: Never have anyone else bowl your soups for you because you have no way of knowing which is which.
Me: Next time the chef should offer tomato bisque. At least that’s a different color.
Her: I’m gonna tell him!
The rest of our food was spot on and it turns out I felt a kinship with the waitress, though I have no reason to and don’t really know why. Maybe because she was older and stressed and the noise was driving her nuts, too. She had one good ear that she kept leaning in to us. Once the other parties left, it was pleasant and quiet. Plus the food was fantastic.
When it came time for the bill, she looked over the top of her peeper glasses and said, “Who’s going to come over here and check this thing out with me.” I got the message. The bill made a moderate amount of sense, which I found shocking in light of the way the lunch began. I couldn’t block/stage that sleight-of-hand-soup-shuffle if I tried.
My lesson to myself is. . .times are stressful for a lot of reasons right now, with only one being the holidays. Restaurants are overbooked and short staffed. Service isn’t going to be always be perfect. But ultimately if the service staff is making an effort and the food is good, that’s what counts.
Give the flaky waitresses a break. All she wants to do is live long enough to finish her shift and get home to a foot bath! I don’t blame
(For more missives, go to my blog at http://heartprintsdotcom.wordpress.com)