Well, everyone, a few weeks ago I finally succeeded in my lofty
college student career goal: I became a server.
Well, everyone, a few weeks ago I finally succeeded in my lofty college student career goal: I became a server.
I had been a hostess for over four months, but with no prior server experience, it was impossible to move up. I realized it was time to look elsewhere for my dream job. Finally, several applications later, I got an interview for a serving position in some ritzy high-class restaurant in downtown San Jose.
During my interview, the manager asked me the difference between every cut of meat on the menu. Uhh, the filet mignon is a little chewier than the prime rib? He also asked me to describe the six different grapes used to make California wine. Six different grapes? I always thought there was just the green ones and the purple ones. Needless to say, the interview wasn’t a success and I never got a call back.
Just when I had given up, a friend told me that the Red Robin in Eastridge Mall was hiring. To my extreme luck, they were, and they were also desperate enough to hire me without any tray-balancing skills to speak of.
When I started my training, I had the horrible misconception that this job would be mind-numbingly easy. I was wrong. The only thing that’s numb are my feet after being on them for six hours, making four hundred trips back to the kitchen for extra ranch dressing. Honestly, I’m beginning to feel like the residents of San Jose have an extremely serious addiction to ranch dressing. I can guarantee you, no matter what the customer orders, they will inevitably ask to slap some ranch on it.
I’m now working on a proposal to my boss to construct an 18 foot Ranch Waterfall right out on the floor so customers can go for it freely. I started out my first official day right before Christmas and thought they would give me my own pathetic little section until I really got the hang of things. Wrong. I came in that Friday night to find ten tables in my section. Now to the experienced server, this may be nothing, but I was ready to die from total fear.
After each shift I work, it gets a lot easier. But you still get those customers who are unaware of the fact that not only are you serving them but also eight other tables at the same time, so if you don’t bring them more napkins within eight seconds, they can be less than understanding.
Hoping to calm my fears of serving, I decided to ask some friends of mine, who’ve been in the biz for a while, about their experiences. Not only is ranch a popular request, but it can also be a very dangerous weapon. My friend Robert, who works at Chili’s in San Jose, once dropped a plastic ramekin container filled with ranch on the floor, where it bounced several times, resembling a mini ranch bomb, managing to take out two tables of customers.
“They all look up at me, dripping with ranch dressing, and it’s like…what can you do? Offer them a wet towel?”
Being a server also means dealing with the most random food orders. A woman once asked him if she could have her house salad sizzling on a fajita skillet. A sizzling salad? I think there’s a reason that item didn’t make it to the menu. Does burnt lettuce really sound that appetizing?
There are also the extremely picky customers. My friend Angelique once had a woman who became irate over the fact that her avocado was on top of the omelet instead of inside of it. She not only had to remake the omelet for her but also had to give it to her for free. Does she not realize that whether on top or inside the avocado will still taste exactly the same?
I personally love the customers who will completely lick their plate clean, then complain about how they didn’t like it and would like to order something else in it’s place. If it was that bad can you please explain to me why there is nothing left? You just forced the whole thing down in sheer misery?
My favorite customers are what I like to call the “honeymoon customers.” You’ve seen these types before (or you hate to admit you are one). These are the guests who sit on the same side of the booth, holding hands and making out while you’re trying to find out if they’d like their Red Robin Bacon Burger cooked medium well or well. I feel like restaurants should have a special section just for these couples so the rest of us can keep our meals down.
Then you have the times when you wait on a big party and you end up auctioning off their food when it comes out. Monster Burger with extra bacon and cheese? Did anyone have the Monster Burger with extra bacon and cheese? And you know someone at this table is the lucky owner of the burger but refuses to claim it. Until finally, five minutes later, a guest shamefully looks up and barely raises their hand, to indicate the Monster Burger is theirs.
Then there are the servers who manage to lighten the stressful environment. My friend Josh, who works at Applebee’s in Gilroy, likes to occasionally use the word “Meow” throughout random spots of conversation with the customer.
“The Santa Fe meow salad comes with meow blackened chicken.” I witnessed this amazing feat, and the customers were completely unaware of his feline speech.
After being behind the scenes, I now have sympathy for servers when I go to restaurants. If it takes them a few minutes to refill my drink, I realize it’s because they have about fifty other things to do. And I also realize that servers definitely work hard to get that fifteen percent tip, and the least I can do is be patient.
Four weeks into the wonderful world of serving, and I’m already afraid of all of the horror stories I’ll soon have. I’m even thinking of starting some sort of support group for servers all around the world to vent their frustrations. I hate to cut this short, but I need to get a customer more ranch for their iced tea.
