“Um... Miss, this isn’t what I wanted.” the older woman remarked, holding up her appetizer-sized Greek salad and regarding me with disappointment.
I frowned in confusion. “You ordered a Greek salad to start, right?” I asked.
“Yes, but I meant a bigger one!” she exclaimed, as if I was a moron for misunderstanding.
“Ohh, you wanted a MEAL-SIZED Greek salad to start, then?” I asked, not caring if she thought me rude- perhaps the next time she goes to a restaurant, she’ll be more clear with her orders.
She nodded slowly, looking at me as if I was a mentally challenged six year old. I apologized, taking the offending salad away from her. I returned to the kitchen, contemplating murder as I ordered her the large salad- dressing on the side, of course. Meanwhile, the group’s meals (having already been sent back to sit under the lights because of the salad debacle- the gentleman just cannot eat his meal before he has eaten his salad, you know) are ready and waiting. I beg the kitchen staff to put fresh fries on the plates and to re-grill the meat. If this table sent back anymore meals, I would snap. (And snapping on the elderly? Not only bad for karma, but not the best way for me to end my illustrious serving career.)
I apologized to the woman on the salad line, and requested a rush on the salad I just punched in. She rolled her eyes, but complied.
I brought the salad back to the table, knowing in my gut that something else would be wrong. The woman looked flatly at the huge salad, then back at me. “Could we have some extra plates for this, please?” she asked.
My eyes couldn’t help but dart to the four side plates already on the table- brought with their rudely demanded bread. However, it’s not my job to argue. I nodded and left them. I took a moment to check in on my other six tables, hoping to get back to my usual multi-tasking self. I collected some dirty plates, printed a couple bills, grabbed a refill and two small bowls and headed back to my section. As I returned to the offensive table, salad bowls in hand, I saw the woman had already made use of the sideplates. She gazed at my offering sadly. “It’s too late. Really, Miss, tonight your timing has been... less than impeccable.”
Having two bills to drop off and some meals waiting in the kitchen, all I could do was mumble incoherently about the size of the restaurant and how she wasn’t my only customer before running away. I dealt with my leaving tables and both of them stiffed me. What a wonderful night. I decided to just drop off the main meals of the rude people and be done with it- once they had everything I could just ignore them.
I could feel a nervous twitch starting up in my left eyebrow. If I had to take much more abuse, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from snapping. I took some deep breaths and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the meals for my final table to pop up. It was then, standing there, sipping Diet Coke, that I realized: in all my rushing around for a certain other customer, I had forgotten to punch in my last table’s order.
Attempting to stay calm, I ordered their food and stalled by dropping off starter salads, as if this long of wait was normal. Once all the meals were dropped off, I was given a welcome reprieve in the form of a lull in business- I had no new tables. I huddled in the back station of the restaurant, out of sight of my customers, sipping Diet Coke. I wished I had something stronger. I wished I had nicer customers to interact with. I wished I wasn’t a waitress. I wished I was at home.
Then, suddenly, the night was over. Sure, I was still working- I had a few more tables, there was my side duty and roll-ups to do, but all difficult customers had paid and departed. The rush was over. I took a moment to breathe- a moment where I wished I had cigarettes: the perfect excuse to go outside and take a few minutes to yourself. But though I was without an excuse to go outside, I was done dealing with people. I could be myself.
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