A Letter From a Waiter to His Former Customers.

Dear Customers,

Hi guys. Most of you are probably surprised that you’re receiving this letter typed on a standard sheet of printer paper as opposed to a small pad written in sloppy pen ink. However, I’ve decided since I am leaving my current job as a waiter in your local burger joint, I’d write you a little letter.

The purpose of this letter is to list for you a number things that you should never do, since apparently a good deal of you have never been properly trained to be a normal fucking adult.

Number one. Don’t ever mistake yourself for my “boss.” If you’re looking for more control in your life, I suggest you ask your own boss for a promotion.

Number two. Don’t walk into a restaurant pointing and darting to a certain table like a little kid claiming the toy he’s gonna play with.

Number three. When your companion says that she doesn’t want avocado, don’t chime in and say “I’ll have her avocado.” That’s not the way it works, for we are not on a rationing system.

Number four. Zinfandel is red. White Zinfandel is bad.

Number five. Don’t make fun of a bottle of wine because it has a screw cap. That doesn’t mean it’s inferior. If it comes from a box, however, you should make fun of it.

Number six. When I’m at your table, don’t use hand signals and wave your glass around in the air or point to something on your table. You’re an adult, use your words. I do understand words. Especially when they’re followed by the words, “Thank you.”

Number seven. Don’t ask me if you get bread. You don’t “get” bread because I’m not your mommy. You may, however, have some bread to accompany your meal.

Number eight. Manage your expectations according to what kind of restaurant you’re in. If you’re in a diner, expect diner service. If you’re in a very popular, very dark restaurant, expect a model to ignore you.

Number nine. Don’t be a dick.

Number ten. When you need something, please understand that I may have O.T.S. Other table syndrome.

Number eleven. Don’t ask me about a certain menu item and then judge my response. I’m not auditioning menu items for you. Don’t talk about how “convincing” I am about chicken fingers.

Number twelve. If you order decaf coffee and I bring it to you, don’t ask me how I know that it’s decaf. Like the waitress on Seinfeld said, “You could not possibly understand the intricacies of my job.”

Number thirteen. A lot of times during my shift I will be drinking red wine out of a coffee mug in back of the bar.

Number fourteen. When I ask, “How you’re doing today,” don’t say, “Iced tea.” That’s not an answer to that question.

Number fifteen. Don’t ask a question like, “Is the Cobb Salad really gigantic or is it a dinky little salad that won’t fill me up?” Given those two choices, you leave me wondering why you ever leave the house at all.

Number sixteen. Don’t be a dick.

Number seventeen. Just because you don’t know what a menu item is, don’t make fun of it. You’re probably only making fun of yourself. “What’s air-u-goo-la?”

Number eighteen. Don’t tell me to smile. I’m at work. Do you smile constantly at work everyday?

Number nineteen. When I ask, “How are you doing today,” don’t say, “I’m waiting for someone.” That’s not an answer to that question.

Number twenty. Overused restaurant jokes are fine, but just so you know, here’s one. Upon finishing everything on your plate, “I hated it, can’t you tell?”

Number twenty-one. If you sit down at my table and you’re on your cell phone, I’m just gonna let you finish up that conversation.

Number twenty-two. When I ask, “How are you doing today,” don’t get quiet and look down at your menu. That’s not an answer to that question.

And finally number twenty-three. In 1972, 16 survivors of a plane crash in the Andes Mountains had to eat the flesh of their dead friends in order to survive through freezing temperatures until two of them gained the strength to miraculously scale snow-covered mountains to seek rescue. I’ll go check on your frittata, it should be ready any minute.


Your Waiter, whose name you either didn’t know or wouldn’t remember the next day anyway.


~ by mickeyfick on November 23, 2010.

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