Letter to My Last Table at Olive Garden..
Hello!
You probably don't remember me, but I sure remember you. You came literally minutes before our restaurant closed with your family I assume.. a man and two teenage children. You were seated outside my section in a booth but due to the size of your ass (sorry, it's true) you promptly moved yourself and your family to a table in my section.
We began our visit together with my standard introduction.. Good Evening folks and welcome to Olive Garden. My name is Elizabeth and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with a drink? You scoffed at me. How dare I assume you had a drink in mind. I'd have to give you a few minutes and come back.
I visited my other tables, handing out to-go boxes and printing checks. I could feel your eyes burning into the back of my head as I carried dishes to the kitchen. Hey!! We're ready. Absolutely. That was always my response. I worked in the food service industry and my job was to please and be hospitable. You were ready to order your drinks as well as your meals. Perfect.
When I took your order, panic immediately set it. I could tell by your demeanor that you weren't one to take no for an answer. When I told you that the kitchen was unfortunately out of the chicken and gnocchi soup you requested, you were immediately upset. I came all the way here just for the soup. I'll have the soup. Gulp.
I asked the chef how long it would take him to make a new batch of soup and his answer wasn't one I liked. Fifteen to twenty minutes. Gulp.
You weren't pleased with this answer either but you pounded your fist on the table like an animal and told me you'd wait. I placed your order against the chef's wishes knowing that if anyone from management were nearby, they'd have done the same.
Of course you were upset that your food was taking too long. It was after 11pm and our chef was staying late... to make soup. Who travels all this way just to eat soup? You did.
I pacified you with drinks and bread stick refills while listening to you bad-mouth my service and the 'shitty restaurant'. Your children were equally rude- one asking if I could hear and another rolling their eyes at me while they slopped food off their plates and onto the table. They were teenagers. not small children even. Your husband sat with his head down, I assume he was contemplating just how lovely his family was.
When your food arrived, there wasn't enough chicken in your soup so I went back to the kitchen to fetch additional meat. Upon my return, your glass was magically empty and you sneered at me sending me back to the kitchen once again. I went round and round with your table, making lap after lap between the service and food prep areas. I caught you laughing at me as I tried to keep up. You told your children that my lack of hospitality would be reflected in my tip. It was a joke to you.
When the smoke had cleared, you left me $2. Was I grateful? No, I was infuriated. Let me explain why...
I assume you think I'm angry because of your inadequate gratuity and although it was shameful, that's not it. You treated me very poorly. I smiled a real, genuine smile and maintained it while I busted my ass to make sure your experience was pleasant even though that was clearly a pointless battle. I catered to your every whim as did the kitchen staff while you criticized and laughed at me. And in addition to the things I did that clearly went unnoticed, I put up with your children whom you have trained to be even less gracious than you. You're raising pigs...pigs who are assholes and you should be so proud.
You probably don't remember me, but I sure remember you. You came literally minutes before our restaurant closed with your family I assume.. a man and two teenage children. You were seated outside my section in a booth but due to the size of your ass (sorry, it's true) you promptly moved yourself and your family to a table in my section.
We began our visit together with my standard introduction.. Good Evening folks and welcome to Olive Garden. My name is Elizabeth and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with a drink? You scoffed at me. How dare I assume you had a drink in mind. I'd have to give you a few minutes and come back.
I visited my other tables, handing out to-go boxes and printing checks. I could feel your eyes burning into the back of my head as I carried dishes to the kitchen. Hey!! We're ready. Absolutely. That was always my response. I worked in the food service industry and my job was to please and be hospitable. You were ready to order your drinks as well as your meals. Perfect.
When I took your order, panic immediately set it. I could tell by your demeanor that you weren't one to take no for an answer. When I told you that the kitchen was unfortunately out of the chicken and gnocchi soup you requested, you were immediately upset. I came all the way here just for the soup. I'll have the soup. Gulp.
I asked the chef how long it would take him to make a new batch of soup and his answer wasn't one I liked. Fifteen to twenty minutes. Gulp.
You weren't pleased with this answer either but you pounded your fist on the table like an animal and told me you'd wait. I placed your order against the chef's wishes knowing that if anyone from management were nearby, they'd have done the same.
Of course you were upset that your food was taking too long. It was after 11pm and our chef was staying late... to make soup. Who travels all this way just to eat soup? You did.
I pacified you with drinks and bread stick refills while listening to you bad-mouth my service and the 'shitty restaurant'. Your children were equally rude- one asking if I could hear and another rolling their eyes at me while they slopped food off their plates and onto the table. They were teenagers. not small children even. Your husband sat with his head down, I assume he was contemplating just how lovely his family was.
When your food arrived, there wasn't enough chicken in your soup so I went back to the kitchen to fetch additional meat. Upon my return, your glass was magically empty and you sneered at me sending me back to the kitchen once again. I went round and round with your table, making lap after lap between the service and food prep areas. I caught you laughing at me as I tried to keep up. You told your children that my lack of hospitality would be reflected in my tip. It was a joke to you.
When the smoke had cleared, you left me $2. Was I grateful? No, I was infuriated. Let me explain why...
I assume you think I'm angry because of your inadequate gratuity and although it was shameful, that's not it. You treated me very poorly. I smiled a real, genuine smile and maintained it while I busted my ass to make sure your experience was pleasant even though that was clearly a pointless battle. I catered to your every whim as did the kitchen staff while you criticized and laughed at me. And in addition to the things I did that clearly went unnoticed, I put up with your children whom you have trained to be even less gracious than you. You're raising pigs...pigs who are assholes and you should be so proud.
You see, I'm a mother to two young girls myself. I'm teaching them that their actions effect others greatly. I want them to know how to treat people in a public (and private) settings. I'm passing on to them the meaning of respect and kindness and showing them just where that can take you in life.
Maybe you should consider these things. It's not too late.
Regrettably Your Server,
Elizabeth
Comments
Post a Comment