Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Since When Does Being a Server in a Restaurant Equal being a Mind Reader?
Upon my arrival with the drinks, I noticed the wife looking fatigued. After placing both of their drinks down, I looked directly at the wife asking her how her day was going. Mid sentence the child cup tilted over on my tray and begin leaking fluids. I quickly picked it up stopping the drainage and handed it to the husband that was sitting next to her in the aisle seat. I guess he had butter fingers because he dropped the cup on the table allowing the cup to spill all of its contents. My thought process:
"Oh. They'll be fine. There's a lid on it. It's not like the water is going to spill everywh--. Oh my gosh! The water is all over the table. Shit! I need a towel."
Thanks to my wickly quick reflexes, I quickly whipped out my "butt towels". I used one butt towel to wipe the water off of the fux wood floor and the other to wipe off the polished fux wood table. I wasn't able to get all the water up with my linen since they aren't designed to soak liquids. Their soul purpose is to protect our hands while delivering hot plates. Anyhoo, the water spill distracted from my attempt to come off as I cared about her day. Stupid spill.
After that little debacle, dinner service went as planned. Until I dropped off their bill. After about two minutes or so I come back to gather their payment. The wife starts to give me the third degree.
"Why is there a charge on here for a 10oz Ribeye? I ordered an 11oz Sirloin. I have a cholesterol problem. I can't eat Ribeyes blah blah blah..."
And there I was giving her the Bambi eyes while secretly scanning the table for any trace of cow carcass. Her plate was licked clean. Let's assume this lady does have a cholesterol problem. Wouldn't you think she would be aware of what she was eating? There's nowhere in my introduction where I ask about medical history.
I always apologize on my behalf of any wrong doings. This was not my fault. I stood there in silence shocked over what I was hearing. What the fuck! There this lady was barking at me because I didn't know her Do's and Don'ts of consumption. I nicely whipped out my note pad and read off their entire order. Her daughter that was sitting across from her sided with me and was telling her she ate the Ribeye and to just stop the debate and pay me. Her daughter was the only one at that table that had any kind of sense. Sorry, lady. You fail.
The moral of the story: Don't assume your server is your personal mind reader. In the end, you look like the ass.