Posted by
Tony Sarrecchia on Wednesday, February 06, 2008 11:11:02 PM
Dear Waiters and Waitresses:
I am a good tipper. If you see me
at your table you are almost guaranteed a 20 percent tip, and you don't
have to juggle plates of pasta over your head to get it—though that
would bump your tip to 30 percent. I do, however, expect a little thing
called “customer service.” That does not mean I want you to be
terminally perky, nor do I want you wiping my mouth with a napkin every
time I take a bite. I just want simple, well-mannered, service.
I understand your job is tough: most servers make less than minimum wage and have little, if any, job security. I know that some of you have to split your tips with the
other staff. More importantly, you knew all this when you took the job.
After all, it isn't like you woke up one day to find yourself
indentured to TGI Fridays; and I am sure no one is holding your family hostage until all the specials have been eaten.
By following these simple guidelines, everyone leaves the meal happy.
- I am the customer; you are the server. Your job is to make my dining experience enjoyable. Can this be any clearer?
- I am not an interruption; I am the reason you have a job. Don’t make it appear that you’d rather be talking to your fellow food service specialists instead of taking my order—that attitude won’t reflect well in your take home pay.
- If I call you over for more water or crackers, it is in your best interest to bring them quickly and with a smile.
- Having
a bad day? Tell a shrink or tell your mom, but don’t tell me. I want
happy, non-whining service. If I wanted to hear complaining, I would
have cooked dinner at home
- Thanks for telling me about the specials before I ask; just make sure to tell me if the “special” (restaurant code for “outrageously priced”) will require a second mortgage or co-signer
before I order. If I have to ask the price, you make me look cheap.
Making me look cheap leads to embarrassment, which leads to anger, which leads to your tip to the dark side of my wallet.
- If
I am not ready to order right away, do not punish me by taking extra
long to check back. Here is a hint: if the menu is closed, I am ready.
- Write it down. It is hard enough for me to remember what I ordered, much less what the wife and the children ordered. Once the order is in, it’s up to you to keep it straight.
- If I see you in the restroom and you don’t wash your hands, I’ll leave right after I tell everyone in the restaurant to thank you for the little something extra on their plate.
- Do
not rush me. If it’s 9:30 and you close at 10:00, I still expect to
enjoy a fully cooked, non-stressful meal. Also, don’t try to turn the
table while I’m still chewing. I am not a cow (I’m just big-boned) and
you will not herd me to the door just to get the next table in.
- Yes,
I want my change back. I will decide how much to tip, not you. Unless
you are one of my children, never ask if you can keep my change—and if
you are one of my children, the answer is no.