"HannaRaskin" news and stories

Remember the Omnibot? When Radio Shack first introduced the short-lived 1980s sensation, it promised buyers could "astound and impress their party guests" by relying on the personal robot to deliver their drinks.

Now Applebee's is borrowing the Omnibot's shtick, employing a newfangled electronic system that's designed to downplay the human element of service. In restaurants across central Florida, servers are now outfitted with watches that vibrate whenever their guests press tabletop buttons.

Applebee's diner Virginia Wesson this week told the Orlando Sentinel she loves her button, since she often has trouble getting her server's attention.

"This way, they have no choice," Wesson said. "They make sure you can't be ignored."

Kudos to the anonymous waitress in Manhattan, the unnamed server in suburban Chicago and the pizza-chain staffer who helped Reader's Digest assemble its story this month about restaurant secrets. Just in time for holiday dining, the expert panel has reminded restaurant-goers that it's not OK to let your shy kid order for himself on a busy night, whistle for service or leave a compliment instead of a cash tip.

I'd concur with just about every item on the list, most of which will be familiar to readers of this column. Not surprisingly, many of the gripes center on beverages, which seem to be the bane of the service biz. I was only slightly annoyed that a waitress revealed servers, who don't want to mess with the noisy, time-consuming process of mixing froufrou drinks, nearly always claim the frozen drink maker's broken; I'd hate for a customer to challenge my colleagues or me the next time we trot out that standard line.

Only a few of the touted secrets seem generated just to round out the list: I'd have serious concerns about the sanity of a server who told guests her "brother's off to war" in hopes of getting better tips, and I've never worked with anyone who would dare leave the alcohol out of a customer's cocktail.

But perhaps the story's most interesting secret isn't a secret at all: It's a question posed by Kansas City waitress Charity Ohlund, who blogs for frothygirlz.com.

Serious diners may revile the open restaurant kitchen as noisy and passé, but the worst behaved among them should thank their lucky stars for the unfortified layout. After all, it's much harder for a server to spit in their food with everyone in the room watching.

But no amount of interior decorating can stop servers from taking revenge on their most miserable customers. Cads who pat their servers' behinds and cheapskates who order water, sugar and lemon instead of paying for lemonade should know their hijinks don't go unnoticed: Even the sweetest-seeming server will punish offenses at the table -- usually smiling all the while.

Spitting gets all the press, but few servers at sit-down restaurants like to mess with bodily fluids: Spitting's considered a rather déclassé and uninspired way of getting back at customers. Savvy restaurant workers aim for pocketbooks, not their guests' immune systems.

Photo: Joe Shlabotnik, Flickr.

For workers who are paid to interact with customers, servers spend an inordinate amount of time on the floor. It's nearly impossible to get through a shift without having to stoop to sweep up cupfuls of Cheerios up-ended by a fidgety toddler, table scraps discarded by loutish diners who apparently take their etiquette cues from William Hogarth paintings or -- most frequently -- puddles of pennies.

I've worked in greasy spoons where hot dogs sold for 85 cents and coin transactions were the norm; I hardly expect a customer to charge a quarter cup of coffee. But in nicer restaurants, where servers don't bark orders across the room and salads don't arrive to the table encased in plastic wrap, coins are nothing but trouble -- any server who's picked up a check presenter and immediately showered their feet with the coins tucked inside it knows exactly what I mean.

Some of the blame clearly lies with the coin-fearing credit-card companies that issue said presenters, designed to accommodate only plastic. But there's really no reason for most restaurant customers to use change in the first place. What's the harm in leaving $72 when the bill's $71.88? Can a server not be trusted for a moment with an extra 12 cents?

I find coins so messy that I typically ignore them, even if it means I end up shouldering a portion of a table's bill. If a guest gives me three twenties to cover a $58.43 bill, I'll return $2 – knowing most guests will leave me both singles. While some of my fellow servers are far more punctilious, I still haven't figured out a good way to sort coins in my apron or rationalize the dead weight of a few rolls of dimes.