"waitress" news and stories

Railing against cell phones in restaurants is one of those reliable screeds that seem to create sudden bonhomie whenever it's voiced. Like complaining about cold weather or high gas prices, ranting about cell-phone etiquette is a surefire way to win friends at bars and office parties.

The New York Times devoted a front-page story to the topic over a decade ago, quoting an incensed Danny Meyer, "'If clouds of cigarette smoke and pungent fragrances were the dining room scourges of the '80s, then the rampant, inconsiderate use of cell phones in restaurants has become their baneful heir as we approach the year 2000."

So what's left to say about technology at the table? All I can add is a server's perspective – from which electronic gadgets don't always look so bad.

Read on for more of our server's thoughts on technology at the table...

Restaurants are running out of money, which means more of them are trying to lure in new customers with coupons. Even the ritziest eateries are starting to run clippable promos in newspaper circulars, promising free appetizers or two-for-one entrées to any penny-pincher with the sense to cash in on the restaurant's miserable financial fortunes.

I have no beef with coupons, and hope they work to resuscitate some of the restaurants that seem in serious danger of shuttering due to the recession. But, for whatever reason, coupon users tend to be among the most impolite diners. Here then, a guide to using coupons – without making an enemy of your server (which, as outlined in previous columns, is never a wise thing to do).

• Don't create a little coupon shrine on your table. Many coupon-carriers, terrified their server might accidentally charge them full price, make a point of prominently positioning their coupon as soon as they're seated. I've seen coupons folded and set on the edge of the table, propped up by the salt and pepper shakers and balanced on candle holders. All that conveys is cheapness, which is what all servers dread. Try your best to keep your coupon enthusiasm in check.

Photo: Robert Banh.

The fast-casual Italian chain Fazoli's recently staged its fourth annual companywide "Pasta Bowl," a trivia contest in which the savviest employees flaunt their knowledge of how many teaspoons of capers belong on the restaurant's chicken piccata.

Fazoli's concept is, admittedly, unique. But restaurant managers have long tried to inspire servers and bump up check averages with a variety of games, most of which are won by whomever sells the most food and drink. The prize – nearly always a bottle of wine left behind by a distributor's rep or a scratch-off instant lotto ticket – goes to the first server to unload a certain number of specials, sell a particular wine or collect a "perfect check" (meaning that guests ordered every course on the menu).

I really like games, since they provide a pleasant distraction from the repetitive nature of restaurant work. Other servers must feel likewise, because when managers don't write the rules, we tend to create our own competitions.

Most every plate I clear looks pretty much the same: There's a typically a stain of sauce where the protein sat, a few unwanted onions shoved to the side and a spoonful or two of uneaten vegetables.

But over the course of an average evening, I'll usually encounter at least a half-dozen diners who have a very different sense of what it means to be done. These eaters -- and I'm using the term loosely here -- push back from the table after taking a few dainty bites. While every restaurant-goer is entitled to enjoy a meal in his or her own way, the under-attacked plate puts the server in a rather awkward spot.

Hard as it is for vocal diners to imagine, there are plenty of customers who are shy about saying their steak's overcooked or potato was served cold. Their untouched plates are very tactful cries for help, which is why I never whisk a still-full plate away without asking whether everything was OK.

The problem is, sometimes everything is OK, except that the diner has an eating disorder. Or was just dumped by the guy sitting across from her. Or sensed a case of swine flu coming on. Not only are guests understandably reluctant to talk about such things, they often seem to resent my posing the question.

When restaurant-goers talk about the scary things they've encountered while eating out, their conversation usually edges toward hygiene infractions and undercooked food. But what really frightens diners is the sight of a server without a notepad.

Like most servers who daylight as journalists (there are more of us than you might imagine), I'm perfectly comfortable taking notes while talking. Still, I won't break out pen and paper for parties smaller than five. That's because I believe writing down orders disrupts my eye contact with my customers and detracts from my ability to build relationships with them. Good service calls for more than mere transcription.

But I suspect my high-minded reasons for not taking notes wouldn't fly with the most skeptical guests, who like to insist I won't be able to recall their request for grilled salmon. "Are you sure you're going to remember this?," they'll ask repeatedly.

If a guest seems especially anxious, I'll make a point of writing his or her order down. But here's what I'd like to tell those nervous Nellies: Yes, I am going to remember your order. Because while the menu may bewilder you, I've been serving from it for years. It takes more than a house salad with ranch on the side and a medium-well steak to confuse me.