It’s been 10 years..
since I started working in the service industry. I began working at a ski shop when I was 14 years old. At the age of 15, I started a job bussing tables at a restaurant in my hometown of Pittsburgh where I stayed until college, and then worked summers and breaks until my junior year at Virginia Tech. I was a food runner, I worked the ‘take out’ service,’ and then served. I also worked at a few other restaurants in Pittsburgh and then began working at an upscale restaurant in Blacksburg during my senior year at Tech. Currently, on top of two other jobs in my field of human services, I bartend and serve 4-6 nights a week in Blacksburg to make ends meet.
In all of these years, and throughout all of these positions, no one has ever told me that I was a bad server.. until tonight. And I have seen and done it all. I’m talking spilled ketchup on a three year old, dropped three steaks on the floor at once, broke a glass on a customer.. I mean really seen and done it all. I have fucked up royally, and still been able to redeem myself, somehow, every time.
Tonight was wine Wednesday. Which is a truly ridiculous concept. The bottles are marked up at over 100% regularly and even at the half off wine Wednesday ‘special,’ you’re paying more than you would at your local grocery store. I understand that the ‘dining out’ concept is what appeals to people, but lets break this down..
Wine Wednesday. Half off bottles. (Still overpriced..) You go to my restaurant. You act swanky, you smell the wine, spin it round. (It’s $9 at Kroger.)
You feel special. You feel entitled. “Oh, look at me! I’m drinking wine and I got a a WHOLE BOTTLE! Yes, watch me smell it!”
You are not a special sunflower and you are not my only customer. I am also not a special and unique flower and I do not have magical powers that enable me to pull 10 drinks out of my ass at once. No, people, it takes time. (BE FUCKING PATIENT WITH YOUR BARTENDER/SERVER.)
I digress..
you’re at the restaurant drinking the overpriced wine, and you want exceptional service. (Mind you, your check will be 1/2 of what it usually would be, which is a concept that the fucking engineers and businessmen and women of this fucking generation simply cannot grasp- YOUR CHECK IS HALF PRICE BUT YOUR SERVER DIDN’T DO HALF THE WORK- NO- WE DID ALL THE WORK.)
So I check on you and I ask if you’re okay, I even come over and tell you that happy hour is almost over and ask if you would like me to ring in another bottle before it’s over. You stare at me and debate for a minute. I have a lot to do. I have three tables and a full bar and I have people staring at me and I’m running out of time so I ask if you want another bottle of chardonnay and you scream at me for rushing you. I get you the bottle.
The restaurant closes. You stay 45 minutes past close. YOU WATCH ME CLOSE THE BAR. YOU WATCH THE SERVERS ALL LEAVE YET YOU STAY!
-Who do people think they are these days, anyways? You’re not special. I’m not special. No one is special. We’re all just trying to make it and we should be empathetic of others, kind and generous. But no- we stay 45 minutes past close not thinking of the manager who wants to get home to his wife and children or the bartender who worked 12 hours that day and just wants to go home and cuddle with her boyfriend before her meeting at 9 am. No- we are special.
And then we stiff the waitress. Me. The server, bartender, college grad, behavioral specialist, girlfriend, the HUMAN BEING who made sure you were ok tonight and had your fucking half priced shitty wine when you wanted it. And then we go the extra length to leave a comment on the tab- “poor servce”
fucking spelled wrong. So while your drunk white bitch ass feels good about stiffing me- fuck yourself- and I hope you enjoyed your meal that I payed for out of my tip money. Fuck you.
