(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.
- Josie -
