Stoner's or Soccer Mom's?

Mellow Mushroom. First ridiculous thought my Christian parents had when I told them I worked here, was that I needed to go to rehab. They instantly started freaking out, crying hysterically at the thought of me being a drug attic. After the initial breakdown I explained that it was basically this little hippie pizza place that had great pizza, great beer, and “free spirited” environment. I made them come in to the store to see that we weren’t selling “special” mushrooms on our pizza’s and all was well, but regardless there is a stigma that goes along with my job.

I cannot even count the number of times people have jokingly, or not jokingly asked me if I was high, or if you needed to do drugs to work here, or if we could throw the “special shrooms” on their pizza. It’s cool, I get the joke, I mean we have a giant eight foot tall mushroom jutting out of the middle of our lobby floor (and yes people do take pictures under it). Regardless, I will say that inevitability people come to our store a lot mellower than our staff.

I was sat with a table. They were a young couple that seemed relatively harmless as I made my way over. As soon as I got to the table I broke out into a huge smile, these too were more stoned then Ozzy Osborne. Being twenty years old and seeing as this isn’t my first rodeo I know what it looks like, and these people were loving life. They hadn’t even made it to the menus because they were too overwhelmed by the look of our store. Literally they were analyzing the glass blown lamp that hangs over each individual table, complimenting the job of the “talented blower”. I asked them what they wanted to drink and through the flaming eyes they squinted, laughed, and said they trusted me. I returned with Mellow Yellow and you would have thought I just gave crack to a crack head, they even applauded me.

After some time with the menu I came back to find my job had been done for me. Because they “didn’t want to forget their creations” they wrote a bulleted list of all the things they wanted and set it on top of the stacked menu’s at the end of the table. I read it back to them for clarity, only to find that they were EXTREMELY hungry. As soon as I finished I couldn’t help but myself, I had to laugh. They were even laughing after hearing it back, but regardless of the fact they could have fed a family of six they wanted it all.

Twenty-five or so minutes and three mellow yellows later their food was ready. Like polite little potheads they waited to eat with huge eyes until I set everything on the table. I asked them if the needed anything other than two more mellow yellows and they were more than good. So they attacked, and it was epic. I didn’t even mind the mess because it was too amazing to experience first-hand. Gluttony, as ugly as it may be has its comedic relief.

When I finally returned, the guy was dabbing is forehead and the woman was trying to get the food out of her blouse. They were a mess, and probably didn’t even care. The seemed completely content, and when I brought them the bill with about three boxes they thanked me on the spot for my patience. They cleaned up the table as best as they could and walked out of the store, laughing hand in hand the whole way. Drugs are bad, but that was easier to overlook with the fat tip they left me. I would deal with stoner’s over soccer mom’s anyday.

Sixteen with Stilettos

Number of People in Party: 30…ish

Number of Birthday Princess’s: Oh…ONLY one.


Sunday is always a fun day. First, there are fewer servers than the weekend so that means bigger sections and more money. Secondly, we play live music so it draws in a crowd; mostly friends, family, and a bunch of regulars. Lastly, everyone comes to get drunk; and at my store that’s really when we make money. I had about a six table section, until a fourth of it with a table or two from another server’s section were smashed together for this party of “thirty-ish” people. (Side-note: NEVER go into a restaurant and give the host an “ish” after your party number, plan.) As the tables were being pulled together, I look outside through the front window and out of a white Escalade I see a flood of balloons pour out the side of this car, my hearts sank.

I immediately ran to the back of the store and smoked the fastest cigarette of my entire life. I knew I wouldn’t be getting another one of these for a hot minute and now was my last free breath of Sunday night. As I walked back in I passed the hostess, with her eyes closed, teeth clinching, and balled fists she muttered to me with a little attitude I must say, “there finally fu**ing sat”, she’s a sweetheart by the way.

Complete utter shock was my initial feeling when I looked at the table; the amount of decorations this mother bought to dress up our tables for her little princess was insurmountable. I mean table clothes, napkins, center pieces, plates, basically everything she would need to present and serve all the food minus the table. I scanned the table for the birthday girl to get her and her parents drinks first but it didn’t take me long. Sitting, at the end of this extremely long table of people, with parents on either side, sat a freshly LOUD sixteen year old. Before I could even ask her what she wanted to drink she was already shouting it to me, from across the entire table of 30 whatever people and their little conversations. It was a deafening squeal, which equated in my ears to nails on a chalk board. After I got her taken care of I put it in third gear, I was THAT server that made it a point to interrupt your conversation make sure I got your drink and just wanted to get it all handled fast and as painless as possible.

Getting the order was actually surprisingly easy; ha, the princess had this one pizza that was her favorite pizza. I too am actually am a big fan of this specialty pie but I just happen to like the ingredients. But because it was her birthday, and she wanted it her way her parents literally order seven large pizzas of the exact veggie pizza she liked. So if you liked anything else that sucked for you, because she wanted an infinite amount of slices of her fave. They didn’t even use the menus because half of the party was around 16 years old and the parents were assuming I guess they would eat anything.

I did this table right to be honest, I was fast and I didn’t spend a lot of time wandering around the table. If they needed something they got it and, then I was out to attend to other tables, and just get away from her. Her voice followed me around the entire restaurant, at every other table, at the expo line, at the drink station, I heard her everywhere. Then finally their food came up and I was elated, finally something to fill her mouth! But no, she instead used MY plan, and since everyone else starting eating they got quieter, perfect time for her to walk around the table and thank every person INDIVIDUALLY.

As she made her way around I was still trying to bring the last of the pizzas to the table. I’m setting the last pizza down and she is walking to the next person, and the next person , until the wipeout. She fell, but not just a fall, this girl little turned the wrong way and just plummeted to the ground. Unfortunately her four inch spiked stilettos were not made for beginners, and her wobbly birthdays self ate it. In my head I lost it, but she was literally four feet away and looked so ridiculously helpless I couldn’t walk away. I helped her up, and then looked at the table and shouted “look she’s still killin’ in those shoes” and they all laughed. I looked at her, and through her teary eyes she actually smiled right at me. I mouthed to her she looked fabulous, and exited, hoping the moment would too, for her sake. I’m not a saint, but it was her birthday, and from the heart of a Vogue obsessed server those shoes were magnificent, and this was their night too.

Baby Love, My Baby Love

Number of People at Table: 2

Number of times they kissed each other: Impossible to count.

I love getting drunk. Consequently, anyone who drinks (heavily) has had a time where they had a little too much. Personally I feel like there is a time and place for everything, for instance; a good place to get belligerently drunk is at a bar, at not so ideal place to get sloppy drunk is maybe a family restaurant like the one I work at. Granted drinks with dinner, or maybe one or two after is completely understandably, but sometime’s it can get a little out of hand.

I had this lovely couple one night that were sweet as pie from the beginning. As soon as I got to the table they began chatting it up, asking how might went, how business has been, and what happened to the restaurant next to us in the complex that just can’t survive and has to be shut down again. They were super nice about everything; thank you’s for everything I did and please with everything they asked. I didn’t even have to give them that much attention before the food came out because they didn’t have appetizers, and were making it on liquor alone. After they got the food they were both about two glasses of wine and a shot or two in and asked for a pitcher of our red sangria. Of course I was happy to oblige them and brought out their pitcher without missing a beat.

I gave them plenty of time to sit and enjoy their food. It wasn’t that late in the night, maybe an hour or so before we closed so I got started on my side work so that closing would be simpler. I tried to stay in eye sight of the table, as well as the other one’s I had, but as I walked by the table it seemed after they finished their food they were going to sit and chat for a bit. As a server, when I see a table wrapping things up I immediately try to grab dishes and trash off the table, just to help them get things out of the way. So when I came to the table with the chatty couple to remove some dishes they seemed very smitten. They went on and on about how good our pizza was, and how they love coming here, and how they also needed a new pitcher of sangria. Ok, so they’re going to chill for a little bit longer. I could tell they were a little buzzed, but I’m not a bartender so I don’t really cut people off unless they have been sitting at my table and drinking like sailors for hours.

I brought them their second pitcher, and the male had moved so he was sitting next to the female, so that they can have a more intimate setting I guess. I don’t know, I wasn’t too concerned either because this only gave me more time to close. By this time it was about nine twenty and we close at ten so it’s not like we were packed. Two or three families, one or two other tables, and then the stragglers left at the bar. I went about my closing duties, as well as taking care of my other tables, but every time I passed the table with the sweet couple it seemed with every pass they were more and more in love. I kid you not, every single time I walked by the table they had moved closer, then their legs were intertwined, then his arm was around her, then her head was on his shoulder, and then it became too much.

After a couple times of passing them, they went from smiling, happy wedded bliss where they kept the PDA to a minimum, straight to the honeymoon where they were full on making out in the middle of our store. They were not the young but they were definitely restless, I would say both being in their mid-forties. Regardless of the age, the make out session was beginning to make me sick. Obviously there is no code of restaurant ethics but kissing your spouse at dinner is more than ok, it’s just when the kiss doesn’t have a clear finish when everything gets a little awkward. I mean they were really getting things handled, it seemed like they may have not kissed each other a while so they were making up for lost times, but I find it a little uncomfortable when I’m trying to get whatever trash I can off the table and want to ask them if they’re ready for the bill but their tongues are too busy to answer me.

I decided to let them be for a while, if they wanted to be the last table here that’s on them, but you better believe when we closed at ten and the floors were almost ready to be mopped because we were ahead on our side work my little “mellow lovers” weren’t going to have to go home, but they about to get the heck out of here. Unfortunately they wouldn’t come up for air, I mean I tried and tried to see if they would take a quick breather but their lips were definitely locked. So I finally had enough, I grabbed the book and started walking to the table. Right before I got face to face, I tripped. Now you can say it was on purpose or you can it was coincidental, but when i reached out to regain balance I just happened to slam my hand and their bill on the table, making a much bigger scene than anticipated. But, they in turn broke contact, noticed the bill threw cash down, stumbled out of the store, and picked up right where they left off directly in front of the front door. Luckily they moved it outside, but I still made sure to lock the doors, and sanitize the booth seats. I could be cliché’ here and tell them to get a room but clearly they didn’t need one.

Leave the Judging to Judy

I’m not a Bad Ass. I don’t think I’m better than other people, nor do I find certain types of people inferior to others. But as a server, I judge.

If I have to be the first to admit it (even though I find that hard to believe), that’s fine. Say a couple walks in, where the man is wearing nice denim jeans and maybe a Polo or Lacoste shirt, while the wife is in a bright spring dress with maybe a Gucci bag. (That’s designer by the way). Then immediately after them another couple walks in wearing sweats, or just simple regular clothes. Your eye’s (with dollar signs) instantly look to the “well-to-do” couple and slightly hope their being sat in your section over the other couple. It’s this uncontrollable want to make money and you instantly think somehow you’re going to make more money off that table. We as servers judge, we judge to see how much we think you’re going to buy, how you’re going to act, how needy you’re going to be, and how much you’re going to tip; and surprisingly enough we (or maybe just me) do it all within the first five or so minutes of talking/looking at the table.

Given that we want to make money, and given that we would love an entire day of parties of four of straight millionaires it’s impossible. We live in Tampa, and for every “rich” person there is here there are maybe three or four more people who are not even close to that well off. As much as customers can bother me, co-workers can do the exact same. It’s an interesting environment to work in, seeing as whatever mistake you make it is more than likely displayed for all of the employees to see because it can normally affect two or three of them. If you don’t run your food someone else will, if you don’t refill drinks your table will stop another server and ask them to do it, and if you don’t believe me you’re crazy. Most tables don’t care who their server is, and they want what they want and they want it now. Even if that means stopping another server not assigned to them and asking them for what they want. As a server you have to ask the right questions, and somewhat anticipate what a table needs normally before they even think about it; this ensures that when they get their food they will need nothing, therefore making them feel like their being taken good care of. Its simple server logic, but some servers only take the time to do these things if they have “judged” that they’re going to make good money of a certain table.

I recall a day when I was working some time ago with this snobby girl that used to work at my restaurant. We were basically standing their waiting to be sat, and a table of five black people walked in our store. As the hostess lead them towards her section I caught her rolling her eyes while she was grabbing beverage napkins to throw on the table during her little intro. I didn’t pay attention to what she was doing but as time progressed it was clear. I noticed some time later that as I was running food and helping out other people while doing my job, I ended up running the majority of that female server’s food to that exact group of black people while she was standing at every other table but that one. With that, every time I walked up to the table with something new they needed something else, a new drink, a side of this, whatever. I began to realize that she wasn’t giving them great service, at all. Not that she was completely neglecting them, it was small things. Like a side of red sauce for the cheese bread, or dressing for a salad, but regardless those things could have been handled before the food even got there. As the night went on she walked up to me later looking absolutely livid. She threw a bill down and when I looked at the table number it was the table of black people she had clearly neglected all night. The bill was about sixty five dollars and they left her four.
Her night was ruined, she sulked and pouted all night over this one table until I finally put her in her place. Obviously it was much too profane to write here for my professor and class mates to read but I can definitely give you the jest of it minus the colorful wording. I basically told her that she judged them, and much like other servers because they were black they were instantly not worth her time. In the food industry I hear all the time servers complaining about getting a table of black people, or Latin people, or people from a foreign country, and how they already know they’re going to get a bad tip, before they even walked to the table! It’s sad, and to be honest I find it to be racist. If you didn’t judge them by their skin color or origin, and looked at EVERY table as money in the bank then it would give you the energy to treat them as you would any other table. Up sell on food, get them to buy drinks; even if you think they won’t buy anything try, sometimes people surprise you. I had a smelly construction worker sit with me before with a few of his friends. You could smell them halfway before you got to the table. But because I treated them like normal humans, I found out his name was Jameson, he loved Irish Carbombs, and with a tab of $150 he left me $50. It can happen. It’s inevitable I know, but if you really try to give EVERYONE great service, you might be surprised with how much your sales start going up.

Everyone Loves Camping

Number of people in Party: 1

Number of “campers” in party: 1

A one top, it’s the dream of every server. You have a booth where up to five or six people can fit comfortably and it’s being used for one person. It’s honestly inevitable, I’m not naïve. Especially if you happen to be working a three to close shift it’s bound to happen. There are people, (including myself) who may not have a significant other, a big family, or even a want to go out to dinner with other people. Some people find it weird but I too love the silence and tranquility of sitting somewhere and eating a meal in complete solitude. Even though I’m a social butterfly, I completely understand the “one top”. With that being said, I would never go to a sit down restaurant with a host and the whole bit and request a table for one, that’s why there are bars at restaurants and high tops, what you thought we were expecting parties of six to sit at the bar together?

Ok, I was working a three to close shift. Which means I get the last of the graveyard lunch shift as well as the beginning of the dinner rush all by myself, which I love being on the floor by myself. Of course, I get sat with a one top which normally at my restaurant is a person basically getting a quick bite on their lunch break, so they are in and out. This guy was not like the others; to begin with he ordered a beer. If you’re taking a quick lunch you don’t order a beer, so I assumed he was going to chill for a bit. Again, no problem he was my only table so I was happy to oblige him. But then after I brought him the beer he wanted an appetizer, again a little odd just because it was one person but hey, you’re hungry and that’s why you came here. After I brought him the app he proceeded with his order; his extremely lengthy order. Which I kid you not consisted of one of our large dinner salads, a house calzone (which is enough for two), and then a LARGE Mighty Meaty pizza which is literally a sixteen inch pie with pepperoni, sausage, ham, bacon, and ground beef. I was shocked and disgusted, and above all had to ask “wow this is all for you”? He replied he was getting dinner for the family so I nodded and put the food in. I mean a bill for a family of four and I only have to wait on one person, I’m down.

Now the time that I put his food in was about 3:30 give or take a few minutes, and the time it hit the table was about 3:50. Right on schedule, two beers in and his food came out nothing short of greasy and correct. I was done by this time, all I really have to do from here is check in on him to make sure he doesn’t need a refill and the food tastes good and then I’m home free. I would say I gave him a solid twenty minutes of pure grub time and then kind of let him sit there and mediate on his full stomach for a bit before I came to offer a box. Like clock-work he accepted the box offer and not a minute late I returned box and bill in tow. As I boxed the rest of his food he asked me for another beer before I set the bill down. So of course I returned with a new beer as well as the modified bill and set both on the table and told him to take his time. He smiled and nodded and that was that. I am by no means a hawk so 4:30 rolled around and it looked like bill hadn’t been touched. Ok, so he really wanted to chill, understandable. As time progressed I started getting more tables, and as I would walk by his table the bill still stood untouched. I set it down a certain way so I know if it even has been opened, and it looked like he didn’t even notice. The night continued and I finally realized it was 6:00 and this guy still had not touched the bill nor asked for a new drink, nor even moved from where he was sitting or even broken his gaze from the TV.

Finally, at around 6:30 this “camper” (which is exactly what you are if you decided to sit at a table for much longer then needed) decided he wanted to pay his bill. I was already moving around from table to table and out of no-where there he was standing completely in my way, face to face with the bill in his hands. He had this annoyed look that went really well his snarky “can I pay now” statement. I ran his bill told him to have a nice day and went about my job. Bam, ten percent.

The camper left me ten percent. Thankfully the table he camped out at wasn’t even in my section because he was sat so early we didn’t even have a dinner floor plan, but still. He sat in someone’s table that they could have made good money on, but of course he found it necessary that a booth for six would be much more comfortable than that of a booth for four. Well I say this to you one top’s; lunch is one thing, but after five it’s disrespectful in my opinion to the server to take up an entire table for yourself when you can still be waited on and get the same level of service at the bar or on the patio if you’re not a drinker. With that, if in fact you do find yourself sitting in a restaurant, at booth or table much larger than you need, and the dinner rush is just starting, feel awkward. Feel extremely awkward because you’re being kind of rude and you don’t want to admit it because you’re comfortable. On top of that DO NOT under any circumstances tip them horribly, solely because your just one person. Why you might ask, because since your only one person chances are the tip is not going to be that excessive, and if in fact you happen to drink alcohol that required the skills of the bartender and made a mess that required a busser, your four dollar tip just went to those people instead of me. One may be a lonely number, but don’t take that out on me.

Oh Jesus

Number of People at Table : 4

Number of Christians at Table: 4

As a waiter, I come in contact with hundreds of people a day; different races, body types, walks of life and so on. I normally have no problem communicating with all types of people, and like-wise they normally have no problem communicating with me. Now, the joy of my place of business is there are no uniforms, therefore giving us the freedom to dress how please and basically just be ourselves. Most people are a little taken back when they see me, between the skinny jeans, the long mane of hair, the fact that I tower of everyone, and the “outgoing” personality, it can be a lot. I know this, so to compensate I try to come off as very relaxed, easy going, you know, mellow. But there are two types of people that no matter how much I smile, laugh, and crack jokes, they are just not having it. Those two types are burley men who just came to drink beer, and devout Christians. Burley men are normally very apprehensive to a six foot two gay guy, but the men never look nearly as uncomfortable as some of the Christians do when I initially walk up to the table. Obviously it’s hard to look at someone and say oh well they’re a Christian, you can totally tell, but with some people it’s not as difficult as you would think.

It was a relatively regular day; with a couple tables here and there it was quite enough to hear the music over the speakers. I noticed I was getting sat by the host so I waited a minute or two and then made my way to the table. One thing I can say since I’ve started serving is that I’ve become much more observant so initially I kind of politely give the whole table a once over just to kind of see who I’m dealing. It’s always very subtle, and I’m sure no one even notices because it’s that hidden. But let me tell you, while I was walking up getting my first look the older female of the table, I’m assuming the child’s grandma and the mom of one of the two adults, was definitely giving me a FULL and fierce assessment. I’ve never seen such an arched eye-brow in my life. So, being the person I am, when I see something like that happening I instantly smile harder than Miss America and make it a point to make eye contact with that person while greeting the table; just to kind of say your attitude is dually noted, grandma.

Drinks were nothing like I experienced before. As I went around the table, starting with the women first to get drinks the mom gave me her order as did the child. But when I got to the little old ball of love she, while clutching the obnoxious bedazzled cross around her neck gave her drink order to the male at the table. Literally she did not even break eye contact with him to look at me, she just mumbled her order to the guy sitting right across from her and bewildered by her odd action, he then looked at me and repeated it as to say she clearly wasn’t talking to you (as in me). As I brought the drinks back, and was setting them all down all three (including the child) said thank you, and of course the golden girl didn’t even break her stare from the male and acted like her drink magically appeared there, no thank you, no acknowledgement, nothing. Hey, that’s cool, I honestly don’t even expect a thank you, but the fact that she wouldn’t even look at me was really starting to annoy me. I asked if they still needed more time for food and they didn’t, so I started on the opposing side of the table from the queen as to specifically leave the most difficult one for last. They all flawlessly gave me their order, and then when I got to her she again looked at the man and ordered one of our dinner salads. I was nervous because in order to give her the proper dressing I was going to have to speak to her directly to ask which one she wanted. So I did, and to my complete surprise she ignored me. One hundred percent acted like she couldn’t hear what I was saying while she was coloring on the children’s coloring sheet with the kid. So after I asked the question for the third time and was still getting nowhere the male, who actually looked a little embarrassed told me to put the house dressing on the side and kind of shoved the menu’s at me.

She barely drank her drink while they were waiting for the food so I didn’t even really get an opportunity to show her I’m just a server and I’m capable of doing my brainless job. It’s cool, I wasn’t going to sweat it because I personally didn’t care that much to be honest, love me or hate me you’re still paying me so it works out. I brought the food some time later, asked if they needed anything else and then just let it be. They munched for about twenty minutes or so, all except for grandma. She just picked at the salad, moved the lettuce around a bit and then after a while her fork just on the plate. I again rejoined the table just to ask how the food was tasting, and by this time I was only looking at the other three guests because I knew I wasn’t going to get a response from Mother Nature. They nodded with smiles and asked for the check and I couldn’t have been happier, my judgment day was done. I brought the bill, he instantly gave me the card, and I left. As I was returning they were all practically standing up which made it clear they were ready to bounce. I dropped the bill, gave them the polite thank you wave, but before I could exit I felt a cold hand around my arm. I stopped in udder shock to see the old fingers around my forearm belonged to none other than the old woman. She looked at me, hand clutching the bejeweled necklace, and said four words I won’t forget. She was almost glaring at me, square in the eyes this time and said, “I’m praying for you”. As I turned and looked at the table, only to find the man and the woman completely mortified; shock initially took over, and then after it registered that yes she did just say that I chuckled, and without skipping a beat I said “while you’re talking to him, ask when he’s going to bring me a man”. It was flawless, and best of all I was able to exit first, leaving her mouth open wide and blood pressure probably going through the roof. Normally I would never even acknowledge a customer’s comment like that because being a server you really can’t, but on the contrary I couldn’t help it. The thing is I’m a server, I’m not here to be put on display for remarks and judgment, and in addition I’m not here for your advice. Thank you, come again.

VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL

I love holidays set forth to force you to show someone you care about them. Not particularly for the emotional value, seeing as I have no significant other, but for the monetary value. If you work in a restaurant the best days to work are holidays like these, some establishments even see these shifts as prizes that they give away to good employees. Thankfully at my job were a bit understaffed so for these days the whole family works together. I walked in at about five and the store was already about seventy five percent full of customers, which means in our language “balls to the wall”. As I looked around just to see what I was dealing with I noticed one thing, almost every table sat had only two people, adorable.

As the night progressed, it seemed every table I had were two hungry valentines. Couple after the couple, it felt so monotonous I wanted to cry. Especially because being a single person it was a defeating feeling seeing how many couple seemed unhappy or awkward sitting there together, like they had better things to do. I literally had a table that sat there and texted on their iphone’s while their kid colored quietly. I mean I could be making completely irrational judgments about people that I literally encountered for an hour and a half at best, but people say more then they think. A person’s body language and demeanor can normally say a lot about who that person is. If a girl is sitting a table with her special valentine (which you wouldn’t go to dinner with anyone else but your valentines on Valentine’s day) and her arms are crossed, her lips are squeezed shut, and she just looking around its clear this is not the place she would like to be. Then out of the nowhere, the clouds to heaven opened over my section and showered two of the most please ant butch lesbians I have ever met in my life.

They were hysterical. I was eating up everything they said, through the bantering with the drink orders and the “you get this and I’ll get that, and we’ll share” ten minute ordering extravaganza I was dying of laughter. I was busy though, and as cute as this Laverne and Shirley situation was I had to move, and they were killing me on time. I threw their order into the computer and when on about my rounds, trying to catch up on them as much as I could. As I walked back to the counter I noticed their ticket to their food was a few tickets back I asked, how long their food was going to be and they told me a minute so I waited. As I stood there they took the two pizzas out of the oven, cut them, threw them on a pan and then slid them over the counter to me. I was confused, but then they threw down the ticket, I rang in their food wrong.

Now this is where you see true colors, you mess with someone’s food after they have been waiting a half an hour you could see blood. No, it’s not that serious but people treat it like I just accidently stabbed them sometimes. I walked back up to the table and the lesbians knew something was wrong. See, body language. I explained that their food came out wrong and before I could finish, they instantly started consoling me, then blamed everything on the kitchen and then grabbed all of the food out of my hands. I felt horrible, it doesn’t normally happen to me but I’m human and some people just find that impossible. It’s mindless work by all means, but sometimes you get it wrong. I really did explain to the ladies that it was my fault and I had made the error when inputting their food, first because I wanted to be honest to them, and second the receipt is an exact copy of what I ring up so if they would have remembered would they ordered then they would have clearly known it was my fault. But the response they gave me was more then I could have given them. They gave me hope. Because after I explained it all and blamed myself they told me there was nothing I could to do to ruin their night of “lady time”. They got their bill, the extremely butch one of the two thanked me for “gettin ‘er drunk” and went on about their night. There are good people in this world, I swear.

Be a Patient Patty, Please.

Number of People: 2

Number of People Contemplating Divorce at Table: 2

As i walked up to the table i literally felt this eerie, akward, uncomfortable sensation comeover me, like i had just walked in on someone using the bathroom. The joy of a busy Friday night is that I’m always moving. Literally, I’m walking in just giant circles around the store, from my tables to dish, from dish to the expo window, and then back to the tables. It becomes much choreographed in a way. So in the midst of a busy night when get sat with a very good looking couple i' instantly notice. You know the couples that just complement each other, the ones that look good individually, but just look better together because they’re just too obnoxiously good-looking of people. It’s sick that all these thoughts go on in my head in the middle of a rush but the people in a way are the entertainment, plus they’re all I’ve got to look at other then the food, and that never changes.
As I got closer to the table , the conversation I thought I was going to stop, didn’t. In fact it wasn't even a conversation, it was an argument; an extremely heated argument, being fought through fake smiles and clinching teeth. So now I’m standing their smiling, just as fake as they are, and I’m pretty sure were all aware of how fake were being, really awkward now. The only word I could even squeeze out through the tension was “drinks”? All I got back was “Two waters, thanks”, and then right back into their glares. Yeah, I didn’t have time for this at all.
I returned to the table with the drinks, as I was walking up, the butt end of the sentence I intruded on ended like this, “I contacted my lawyer yesterday, if you want this could be finished in…” and then there I am with the drinks. Wishing my timing wasn’t so impeccable. I asked if they needed more time, the woman said yes, he said no, and then ordered a medium cheese pizza and gave me the menu’s, including the one he grabbed right out of her hands. I felt bad for her, but unfortunately I was so busy that this Days of Our Lives episode was just going to have to wait until I could tune back in when I bring them their food.
The time goes by and I barely even notice them as I’m running around. As I walk back to the expo window to get their pizza, it had been about thirty-five minutes so I’m hoping things have been smoothed out by now. I turn the corner, walk up to the table only to find the female now in full on tears. I’m talking liquid eye liner down her cheeks, a trail of snot exiting her nose, and a little pile of napkins in front of her on the table. As I’m setting my pizza down on the stand at the other side of the table, I notice that next to the pile of tissues is a ring, my heart broke for her. Now normally if I’m in the middle of a Friday night rush I don’t have time to think about anything else, but as I walked away from the table this lady’s tears were really starting to weigh on me. When I brought the check I also brought one these little Ben & Jerry’s little ice cream cups with two spoons, I figured it couldn’t hurt. The man looked really annoyed. He gave me his card without looking at the bill, and I left. I returned, wished them a good night, and moved on about my job. When I came back to the table after they left to get my book, it was gone. No receipt, no cash, nothing, they even took my pen. Rude.
I chalked it up to two things;
A. The husband did not appreciate my gesture, and made it a point to make it known.
B. They were too distraught over what was happening to even think about me.
Regardless I let it go, for this reason only, I’ve had those days. The days when you just wish someone could just be a little bit patient with you when you need it the most, so I was. Instead of cursing them for the next two hours, I took a breath, smoked a cigarette, and had the host double seat me. Sometimes as a serve I find myself expecting people to give me a break, seeing as my job is not a funfest. But, seeing as I think people should extend that mercy to me, I should extend that mercy to other people. Maybe they forgot, maybe they didn’t have enough money to tip me and were embarrassed, regardless it happens.

The next day, the female came back in with the server book, my pen, and five dollars to tip me for the food. She gave it to the host and told her to tell me thanks for the ice cream. Patience is a virtue, I’m learning slowly.

Kids Says the Darnest Things

First Blog:


Number of People In Party: 7
Number of People in the party under age of 7 years old: 6

Hello blogging world. My name is Stefan Hicks, I am currently a server at Mellow Mushroom, in Tampa Fl. I’ve been at this place for a little over a year, I work at least forty hours a week, this place is my home, I love my job, and I’m good at it (all “serving ego” aside). Enough background…


Saturday mornings are either hit or miss. Either every family decided to go to some sporting event, or they come to Mellow Mushroom, so you never know. This particular Saturday, was painfully slow, like so slow I maybe had a new table every hour, if that. So in walks a “mom”, slash supermodel that looked like she literally just stepped off the runway and decided the one thing she was going to eat this week was mellow mushroom pizza. I was happy, moms love me, mostly just my hair but we always get along. But before I could get the host stand to greet her, the door opened again, and in walked six loud, messy, screaming children that looked like they wanted to eat me. I looked at the server rotation to see what server was getting the next table and of course my name was next. (disclaimer: I am highly allergic to children). Joy. I lead them to the booth, and give them a few minutes to get situated and plan on how I’m going to deal with this surprise kid attack. Thankfully some genius created oversized coloring sheets for children that have this innate ability to make them shut their mouth s and color. But no, not these kids, no amount of coloring was going to deter them from the fact that they were starving. It was like the mother hasn’t fed them for days they were complaining so much. So as I brought them back their drinks and got the awkward “hey, how are you doing today” ice breaker out of the way the one word she gave back was “hungry”. She insisted in putting the order in immediately, but unbeknownst to her every child wanted something completely different from the other. So like a typical caring mother she made sure I had her order first, and that I had correctly written down the way she wanted her gin martini, and then said “tell the man what you want”, thanks for feeding me to the lions you freaking Judas. To best describe the ten minutes I took listening to these six children scream to me their order, it was probably most similar to what Wall street looks like with the bell, and all the screaming of men in suits and what not. It was gruesome. To give just one example of what I dealt with, a 5 to 6 year old little girl TOLD me she wanted a cheese pizza, but not told, yelled, and then through the menu at my feet, right before she threw the crayons across the table because pink was not part of the children’s sets of crayons we hand out.
As I emotionally stumbled back to the computer to ring in their order I looked at my server pad only to find a thousand scribbled words written all over each other. It was a mess, but I somehow deciphered through all the chicken scratch just to put some sort of food through. Even if only eighty percent of it was right, at least it was something. Naturally I walked back to the table to tell her the amount of time they were going to wait for their food, because unfortunately at my restaurant, pizza times can reach up to an hour if we have a full store. The time was only twenty five minutes just because of the amount of pizzas they had, but that was about twenty four minutes to long in the mothers eyes. Regardless, she didn’t have a choice, so she sipped her martini, and flicked her wrist to me signaling me to go away, pleasant as a peach right? The rest of the meal went relatively ok, they got the food, the children in haled it like feeding time at the zoo, and all was well, until the bill. Most restaurants have a gratuity system put forth so that in the case a server receives a larger party they can ensure that they will at least get a somewhat acceptable tip considering there are probably going to busy. We apply the gratuity at six people or more, at our digression of course, but six is the minimum. I had already decided I was going to apply it, these small children made me sweat, and I only had one table, eighteen percent for me, period. The mother for whatever reason felt like her, included with the six children did not need this guaranteed tip applied because they were “children”. Long and the short, the gratuity stayed on the bill, she crossed it out and wrote in her own tip that only amounted to ten percent of the total bill, and I still got my guaranteed tip. It’s in the menu sweet heart, learn to read the fine print. Children are hard to control, I understand; unfortunately, this is a place a
business not a play ground. Be a parent and take the time to care and teach your
child some sort of etiquette of just when in the presence of other humans much
less anywhere else. Clark Wolf, a well known restauranter gives a tip on how to
achieve better service from your waiter: "Nice them into submission." If only
the mother would have offered a little bit of help with the children she would
have probably gotten a bigger smile for me and coloring sheets for her kids.
With that they ordered food, I did more serving to the children than the mother,
and they demanded more than the Botox beauty queen, OF course I’m going to add
gratuity to the bill. Your children count as people, and I’m a server, I work
for the money not the children, that’s what your nanny is for.