"server" news and stories

New York Times blogger Bruce Buschel has done a great service by compiling a list of 100 Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do – if nothing else, he's given fed-up diners one more forum in which to vent their ever-mounting aggravations. Thanks for the break, Bruce.

Most diners and servers would stand behind the majority of Buschel's prescriptions, which include not cursing (Rule 45), opening Champagne without making a ruckus (Rule 29) and knowing what the bar stocks (Rule 81). But his list is far from perfect. While Buschel's document would make a fine training manual for butlers, it fails to acknowledge the realities of running a restaurant. Here's what Buschel apparently forgot:

Some things are beyond a server's control.

One of Buschel's first recommendations (Rule 4) is to offer a free drink to someone who's had to wait a long time for a table. "The guest may be hungry and thirsty," he explains. May be? I think it's a safe assumption that anyone who shows up at a restaurant is craving food and drink. But I don't know of a single server who's empowered to start giving that stuff away.

The same goes for Rule 23, which insists diners be alerted to 86'd items before they open their menus. Since the hostess usually drops off menus when she seats a table, cutting her off would require Usian Bolt-speed (and necessitate breaking Rule 33 – Do not bang into chairs or tables.)

Hostesses, of course, should brief diners on which items are no longer available. But often they don't, just as the kitchen often turns out the first appetizer on a ticket a full 12 minutes before the second appetizer is ready. I completely agree that servers should "bring all the appetizers at the same time" (Rule 60), but I won't let a tray of raw oysters sit in the window while a new guy struggles to properly heat a dish of crab dip.

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.

Messy table. Photo: Jason Rosenberg, flickr

Hanna Raskin's first waitressing job was at a small Greek diner in Michigan. In the 15 years since, she's worked at a chop suey joint in Mississippi, an exclusive Arizonan country club, a vegetarian eatery and an Irish pub. She currently picks up odd shifts at a seafood eatery in the North Carolina mountains, where she cracks crab legs for helpless tourists. This is the tenth in a series of posts.

As a server, I should have boundless patience with my fellow overworked, undertipped brethren. But as anyone who's dined out with servers knows, food industry pros are often the harshest critics of front-of-the-house shenanigans.

Since servers know how restaurants work, they know exactly who to blame for the mishaps that spoil their eating-out experience. The French onion soup's taking too long? That's so not the fault of the server (many of whom would probably be thrilled to pack all three courses in to-go containers and send their table on its way). The halibut doesn't taste good? That's likely the reason the server skips the employee meal.

Diners should never discount their tips for things beyond the server's control: A corked bottle of wine, too long of a wait at the host stand and dirty bathrooms are comment card fodder, not tip-lowering offenses. But there are certain server behaviors for which I'll almost always knock down a gratuity a few percentage points.

Photo: wwarby, Flickr

Hanna Raskin's first waitressing job was at a small Greek diner in Michigan. In the 15 years since, she's worked at a chop suey joint in Mississippi, an exclusive Arizonan country club, a vegetarian eatery and an Irish pub. She currently picks up odd shifts at a seafood eatery in the North Carolina mountains, where she cracks crab legs for helpless tourists. This is the seventh in a series of posts.

At my restaurant, each server is issued a service-station style workshirt with his or her name neatly scripted above the left breast pocket. It's a homey touch (albeit one that's largely subverted by my colleagues' propensity to wear someone else's shirt.)

Most servers aren't all that eager to reveal their names to their customers, since there's nothing more irritating than hearing someone repeatedly shriek your name when you're standing 20 yards away. The most undignified aspects of serving seem somehow even more demeaning when paired with one's own name (as in: "Hanna, will you clean up this mess my son made?" or "Hanna, I want you to cut the crusts off my sandwich.")

Worse still, a name is just a gateway drug for prying patrons, who figure that once they're on a first-name basis with you, they're welcome to inquire after your education, age and marital status.

An (almost) empty restaurant. Photo: Daquella manera, Flickr

Hanna Raskin's first waitressing job was at a small Greek diner in Michigan. In the 15 years since, she's worked at a chop suey joint in Mississippi, an exclusive Arizonan country club, a vegetarian eatery and an Irish pub. She currently picks up odd shifts at a seafood eatery in the North Carolina mountains, where she cracks crab legs for helpless tourists. This is the fifth in a series of posts.

When a hostess beckons diners into a restaurant, her standard greeting is "Let me show you to your table." But to the chagrin of staffers and customers alike, a seemingly increasing number of eaters are taking the "your table" idiom quite literally. They exercise what some might call a sense of entitlement, threatening to disrupt service and the reservations system.

Traditional restaurant etiquette holds that diners behave as though they were seated at someone else's house: That's why we in the industry call them "guests." But as the cost of eating out has gone up and its novelty has faded, formality has given way to a different model. Diners now comfortably rearrange restaurant furniture, rarely asking permission to push tables together, park chairs in aisles or stick unwanted planters, vases and votives where they don't belong.