In my early stages toward becoming a non-professional, I have worked food service, yet I have never actually been a server. I worked behind counters at an ice cream shop and a pizza shop. I didn't have to be nice, because I didn't rely on tips. I didn't have to be accurate, because I couldn't have cared less if my manager had to refund a customer's money. "There's like, a ton of hot fudge back here," I thought, "I'll just make them another sundae...and one for myself while I'm at it." I'm sure some special orders irked me, but I tried to accommodate them. Since I usually made the food myself or worked with a small crew, communication wasn't too difficult. I don't think it compares to being a food server in a busy chain restaurant. Therefore, with the integrity of this blog's name intact, I'll relate a recent dining experience.
It was simple enough: a double date including a movie, then dinner after. We chose a restaurant in the same parking lot as the theater, which had opened fairly recently. We had been to other restaurants in this franchise so expected nothing unusual. Our server, Smiley, was very friendly and seemed very attentive when taking our orders. Beetle's girlfriend Christina Hendricks ordered a steak "between medium-well and well. Done, but not burned." I ordered a deliciously described salad. The menu showed that this particular salad did not come with chicken on it; chicken cost extra. Smiley asked if I wanted chicken, and I emphatically stated (I think all 3 of my table mates may have also chimed in here) "NO. Chicken."
When Smiley came around a few minutes later, I ordered a drink. Smiley said, "Sure! And your chicken salad will be out shortly as well." "NO! No. Chicken." I reminded him, though my memory is hazy as to whether or not my teeth were clenched at the time. "Right! No chicken. Got it." And off he ran, leaving the omen looming over me and my honey-buttered croissants.Yet the salad arrived with no chicken in sight. No chicken in sight. After three bites, I found a chunk of dead animal. I sighed and set down my fork. "They put the chicken on and then picked it off," I told Husband. Smiley was actually quite attentive, and when he checked on us again a few minutes later, Husband sent back the salad, explaining to him the chicken debacle. As Smiley brought back my chicken-free salad, Christina made known her dissatisfaction with her steak, which was decidedly, bent-her-knife-trying-to-cut-into-it burnt. Unlike salad, steak has to be cooked, so - although Smiley offered - she did not get a replacement.
Hearing of Table 7's impending negative Yelp review, Manager comes to ask what he can do to set things right. He offers two things: to take the steak off the bill, and a free dessert. While us girls decided against the dessert, Beetle's will was shattered by the prospect of a free giant cookie topped with free ice cream for free. The bill arrived, and, like the meals themselves, had to be sent back, because they had charged us for the steak.
The experience had its frustrations, but ultimately, we all kind of laughed in wonder at how this has never happened to us before now. I have to give props to Smiley, who kept cool in spite of all these missteps. Because the service was good and he and Manager did make things right overall, no one suggested never dining there again. And we tipped him, of course, because we knew that most of the trouble wasn't his fault. I know that if I worked for tips, I'd probably have to learn to survive on ramen noodles.
