(Josie
Sayz: Confession number one, I’m a waitress. These are all real examples that have
happened to me. Most of these confessions occur multiple times a day, let alone
week. Some of them are just things that really annoy me and other
waiters/waitresses whom work at (what I shall be referring in my examples as)
‘Fin Finish’. Some of the other confessions are things that I honestly can’t
believe some people actually do or say; it’s shocking.)
Signalling for the
bill.
Whether you are scribbling your hand in the air as though you are holding an
invisible pen or if you press your palms together and open them up,
impersonating a cheque book, it’s annoying. When I first started working as a
waitress I didn’t even know what these weird hand gestures meant. I understand
the origins now, but it still makes no sense. Why can’t you just ask me for the
bill? Is that so difficult?
Whispering for the bill. Although not as bad as the previous one, why must you whisper? Everyone knows that someone on your table has to pay the bill; it’s no big secret. It will be obvious that you are about to pay the bill when I bring the cheque book to the table, so why the secrecy?
Waving your debit/credit card at me. Guess what? I can wave too. I can see you have a debit/credit card – so what? If you want to pay by debit/credit card for your bill, why don’t you just ask me for the card machine? Or pay with your debit/credit card at the till, which you have to walk past in order to leave.
Handing me your debit/credit card inside the cheque book. If you hand me the cheque book, I’m going to assume that there is money inside and you want me to take it to the till for you and bring you back the change. What use would handing me your debit/credit card be? I take the cheque book off you and go to the till only to find out that you want the card machine. Why couldn’t you just ask for it? I don’t know your pin number, do I? Now with contactless payment options, do you know how many times I’ve thought: ‘What if I charge them the full £30 contactless charge, then walk over to their table with the card machine and get them to pay for their bill – just to teach them a lesson for being so mindless.’ I would never do such a thing, but what’s stopping the dishonest worker from doing so? And you would be completely unaware (unless/until you checked your statement) that the restaurant had even done it.
Handing me your cheque book as you are about to leave. If you are paying by money and do not want your change, please, do not hand me the cheque book whilst I am serving another table or cleaning a table. You have to walk past the till on your way out – why not leave it there? If you hand it to me, I will hastily walk past you and either leave it at the till (just as you could have done) or stand in the que like everyone else to prove a point to you. If you are in a rush, I understand that, you can leave the cheque book on the table. The money is not going to get eaten by the teapot or the salt shaker. Another table is not going to steal your money – 1) we have cameras at all angels of the restaurant and 2) your table is surrounded by other tables – someone would see. If you were worried about someone stealing your money, take it straight to the till.
Don’t call me, “My love.” It’s that simple; just don’t do it. I respect all who enter the restaurant and call men, “Sir,” and women, “Madam,” so could you show me a bit of respect too? I am not your love and I don’t like the idea of you calling me that in front of your wife either. The term, “My love,” is something only my partner can call me, not some stranger that I’ve just met. It’s creepy and wrong and just don’t do it.
Don’t call me, “Sweet, little girly.” Just because you are over eighty years old, it doesn’t mean that you can treat everyone younger than you like they are five years old. I’m twenty-five. Do you have any idea how awkward and uncomfortable that is and to have the table sat next to you start sniggering and laughing at me too… just stop. Please stop. Or do you want me to start calling you, “Sweet, old deary.”
Don’t call me, “Bab.” This one is a huge pet-peeve of mine. Do you actually know what you are saying? Do you know what the word means? Bab was the name given to the youngest pig in the litter. I’m clearly not the youngest, nor am I a pig. So, please, do not call me, “Bab,” ever again.
Taking the mick out of my voice. Now this one is just plain rude. If I took the mick out of you or your voice, you would demand to speak to the manager immediately, make me apologise and tell the manager I deserve to be sacked. So why is it that you think it’s okay to take the mick out of me? It’s so childish, yet most of the time males between the age of 50 and 70 years do it. Why? Yes I have a squeaky voice – having laryngitis three times and having to speak to customers constantly for ten hours a day with hardly anything to drink doesn’t help matters either. I am an extremely self-conscious individual with low self-esteem issues. I’m surrounded by people like you for 40-50 hours (or more) a week, giving me abuse as it is for stuff that has nothing to do with me, so you mimicking my damaged voice box really does not make me feel better about myself.
Not using your manners. From infancy you are brought up to say please and thank you (or at least I was). Just because I am waiting your table that does not mean that you can forget your manners. Just because I am younger than you does not mean that you don’t have to say please. Just because you have had a bad day does not mean that you can scowl at me or snatch from me. You say please and thank you. The amount of times I have had to bite my tongue, so that I didn’t say, “Please?” or “Thank you?” in the way my mother used to do to me when I was three years old, training me to use my manners. Just a little note to those of you out there who don’t use your manners when I am serving you, if you fail to say please or thank you, I will take my time sending your order through to the bar and kitchen.
Asking me to clap my hands when carrying plates. Why? Why do you always feel the need to do this? I have just collected all four of your dinner plates and your side plates and bowls and some of you are even stupid enough to pile your teacups and wine glasses higher onto the plates’ pile… then you ask me to clap my hands. Well the customer is always right, aren’t they? Does that mean you want me to drop all of the plates (possibly dropping/smashing them off your head) and clap my hands for you? That sounds like a bloody mess if you ask me. Would you stick around to clean up all of the smashed crockery and to wipe your blood off the table? You know, I’m starting to think this might be a bad idea – I don’t know about you. But just in case… just in case you stupidly ask me to do just that, I’ve devised a way of carrying plates, so that I can clap my fingers together at least. “Show off,” you laugh – no, I’m not a show off. I’m just doing exactly what you asked me to and the customer is always right.
Don’t say, “Aren’t you going to take our order?” This question is horrible. To me, it is stating that I can’t do my job properly. However, I can spot which customer is going to say this straight away. You will sit down and I’ll hover nearby filling up condiments or folding napkins to see if you are ready to order, you clearly aren’t. Some of your table are just looking over the menu for the first time, asking someone else what they would recommend, whilst someone else is asking you if Jilly had a nice birthday and Margret hasn’t even taken her coat off yet. The table next to you, who came in after you is ready to order. I take their order. Leaving their table, you wave your hand in my face shouting, “Aren’t you going to take our order?” I was already going to pass by your table next and ask you if you were ready or would like a few more minutes. You say you are ready and insist that I stay, however no one other than you has any idea what they would like. I end out standing by your side (often for over ten minutes) whilst one person decides what they want and everyone else talks about Margret’s new jumper that she bought from the market stall last Tuesday. You are not the only table that I need to serve. You are not my only customers.
Asking, “Have you had a smashing day?” after I drop a glass. I have just dropped one glass. It’s not the end of the world. No, I haven’t dropped one previously to this one. I have not had a smashing day. In fact my day is getting worse because I have just dropped a glass and you are taking the mick out of me. So no, in answer to your stupid question I am not having a smashing day.
Asking, “Have you had a smashing day?” after hearing the previous tables say it to me. This is just pathetic. I have dropped a glass. One glass. The table closest to me just asked that question. You heard them. The next table asked the same question, you heard them. So why when I pass your table must you ask me the exact same thing? Do you not think that I feel bad enough having dropped a glass and the previous two tables took the mick out of me? Yet you feel the need to as well. You couldn’t even come up with something original – you just recycle the joke you heard twice already.
Asking me if I remember something that happened before I was born. I know I said that I don’t like being treated like I am five, but when customers do this it is almost as bad. If a song from the 1950s plays on the jukebox, chances are I will know what song it is and who sang it, what I don’t know is what the town centre looked like the year that the singer performed that song at the Town Hall or what year it was number one in the charts and whom it stole the top spot from. Do you know why? – because I was not born then. It is obvious. I look even younger than I actually am, so why would you even think to ask me? Oh, I know why, so you can add some stupid comment, like, “Oh, you wouldn’t know anything about it – the youth of today,” and then laugh at me. Just because I am younger than you, does not mean that I do not appreciate music from the fifties – a lot of my favourite songs were from the fifties and sixties. I like that sort of music and if you were to ask me, you would find that I am quite knowledgeable of the music, the fashion and hobbies from back then. Of course I do not know what the Town Hall looked like back then or how many miles you had to travel, but don’t take the mick out of my age and intelligence just because I was not born then.
Whispering for the bill. Although not as bad as the previous one, why must you whisper? Everyone knows that someone on your table has to pay the bill; it’s no big secret. It will be obvious that you are about to pay the bill when I bring the cheque book to the table, so why the secrecy?
Waving your debit/credit card at me. Guess what? I can wave too. I can see you have a debit/credit card – so what? If you want to pay by debit/credit card for your bill, why don’t you just ask me for the card machine? Or pay with your debit/credit card at the till, which you have to walk past in order to leave.
Handing me your debit/credit card inside the cheque book. If you hand me the cheque book, I’m going to assume that there is money inside and you want me to take it to the till for you and bring you back the change. What use would handing me your debit/credit card be? I take the cheque book off you and go to the till only to find out that you want the card machine. Why couldn’t you just ask for it? I don’t know your pin number, do I? Now with contactless payment options, do you know how many times I’ve thought: ‘What if I charge them the full £30 contactless charge, then walk over to their table with the card machine and get them to pay for their bill – just to teach them a lesson for being so mindless.’ I would never do such a thing, but what’s stopping the dishonest worker from doing so? And you would be completely unaware (unless/until you checked your statement) that the restaurant had even done it.
Handing me your cheque book as you are about to leave. If you are paying by money and do not want your change, please, do not hand me the cheque book whilst I am serving another table or cleaning a table. You have to walk past the till on your way out – why not leave it there? If you hand it to me, I will hastily walk past you and either leave it at the till (just as you could have done) or stand in the que like everyone else to prove a point to you. If you are in a rush, I understand that, you can leave the cheque book on the table. The money is not going to get eaten by the teapot or the salt shaker. Another table is not going to steal your money – 1) we have cameras at all angels of the restaurant and 2) your table is surrounded by other tables – someone would see. If you were worried about someone stealing your money, take it straight to the till.
Don’t call me, “My love.” It’s that simple; just don’t do it. I respect all who enter the restaurant and call men, “Sir,” and women, “Madam,” so could you show me a bit of respect too? I am not your love and I don’t like the idea of you calling me that in front of your wife either. The term, “My love,” is something only my partner can call me, not some stranger that I’ve just met. It’s creepy and wrong and just don’t do it.
Don’t call me, “Sweet, little girly.” Just because you are over eighty years old, it doesn’t mean that you can treat everyone younger than you like they are five years old. I’m twenty-five. Do you have any idea how awkward and uncomfortable that is and to have the table sat next to you start sniggering and laughing at me too… just stop. Please stop. Or do you want me to start calling you, “Sweet, old deary.”
Don’t call me, “Bab.” This one is a huge pet-peeve of mine. Do you actually know what you are saying? Do you know what the word means? Bab was the name given to the youngest pig in the litter. I’m clearly not the youngest, nor am I a pig. So, please, do not call me, “Bab,” ever again.
Taking the mick out of my voice. Now this one is just plain rude. If I took the mick out of you or your voice, you would demand to speak to the manager immediately, make me apologise and tell the manager I deserve to be sacked. So why is it that you think it’s okay to take the mick out of me? It’s so childish, yet most of the time males between the age of 50 and 70 years do it. Why? Yes I have a squeaky voice – having laryngitis three times and having to speak to customers constantly for ten hours a day with hardly anything to drink doesn’t help matters either. I am an extremely self-conscious individual with low self-esteem issues. I’m surrounded by people like you for 40-50 hours (or more) a week, giving me abuse as it is for stuff that has nothing to do with me, so you mimicking my damaged voice box really does not make me feel better about myself.
Not using your manners. From infancy you are brought up to say please and thank you (or at least I was). Just because I am waiting your table that does not mean that you can forget your manners. Just because I am younger than you does not mean that you don’t have to say please. Just because you have had a bad day does not mean that you can scowl at me or snatch from me. You say please and thank you. The amount of times I have had to bite my tongue, so that I didn’t say, “Please?” or “Thank you?” in the way my mother used to do to me when I was three years old, training me to use my manners. Just a little note to those of you out there who don’t use your manners when I am serving you, if you fail to say please or thank you, I will take my time sending your order through to the bar and kitchen.
Asking me to clap my hands when carrying plates. Why? Why do you always feel the need to do this? I have just collected all four of your dinner plates and your side plates and bowls and some of you are even stupid enough to pile your teacups and wine glasses higher onto the plates’ pile… then you ask me to clap my hands. Well the customer is always right, aren’t they? Does that mean you want me to drop all of the plates (possibly dropping/smashing them off your head) and clap my hands for you? That sounds like a bloody mess if you ask me. Would you stick around to clean up all of the smashed crockery and to wipe your blood off the table? You know, I’m starting to think this might be a bad idea – I don’t know about you. But just in case… just in case you stupidly ask me to do just that, I’ve devised a way of carrying plates, so that I can clap my fingers together at least. “Show off,” you laugh – no, I’m not a show off. I’m just doing exactly what you asked me to and the customer is always right.
Don’t say, “Aren’t you going to take our order?” This question is horrible. To me, it is stating that I can’t do my job properly. However, I can spot which customer is going to say this straight away. You will sit down and I’ll hover nearby filling up condiments or folding napkins to see if you are ready to order, you clearly aren’t. Some of your table are just looking over the menu for the first time, asking someone else what they would recommend, whilst someone else is asking you if Jilly had a nice birthday and Margret hasn’t even taken her coat off yet. The table next to you, who came in after you is ready to order. I take their order. Leaving their table, you wave your hand in my face shouting, “Aren’t you going to take our order?” I was already going to pass by your table next and ask you if you were ready or would like a few more minutes. You say you are ready and insist that I stay, however no one other than you has any idea what they would like. I end out standing by your side (often for over ten minutes) whilst one person decides what they want and everyone else talks about Margret’s new jumper that she bought from the market stall last Tuesday. You are not the only table that I need to serve. You are not my only customers.
Asking, “Have you had a smashing day?” after I drop a glass. I have just dropped one glass. It’s not the end of the world. No, I haven’t dropped one previously to this one. I have not had a smashing day. In fact my day is getting worse because I have just dropped a glass and you are taking the mick out of me. So no, in answer to your stupid question I am not having a smashing day.
Asking, “Have you had a smashing day?” after hearing the previous tables say it to me. This is just pathetic. I have dropped a glass. One glass. The table closest to me just asked that question. You heard them. The next table asked the same question, you heard them. So why when I pass your table must you ask me the exact same thing? Do you not think that I feel bad enough having dropped a glass and the previous two tables took the mick out of me? Yet you feel the need to as well. You couldn’t even come up with something original – you just recycle the joke you heard twice already.
Asking me if I remember something that happened before I was born. I know I said that I don’t like being treated like I am five, but when customers do this it is almost as bad. If a song from the 1950s plays on the jukebox, chances are I will know what song it is and who sang it, what I don’t know is what the town centre looked like the year that the singer performed that song at the Town Hall or what year it was number one in the charts and whom it stole the top spot from. Do you know why? – because I was not born then. It is obvious. I look even younger than I actually am, so why would you even think to ask me? Oh, I know why, so you can add some stupid comment, like, “Oh, you wouldn’t know anything about it – the youth of today,” and then laugh at me. Just because I am younger than you, does not mean that I do not appreciate music from the fifties – a lot of my favourite songs were from the fifties and sixties. I like that sort of music and if you were to ask me, you would find that I am quite knowledgeable of the music, the fashion and hobbies from back then. Of course I do not know what the Town Hall looked like back then or how many miles you had to travel, but don’t take the mick out of my age and intelligence just because I was not born then.
- Josie -
