Friday, September 19, 2008

I haven't been posting because of drama that I don't want to write about, yet can't seem to stop thinking about for more than two minutes to tell the world about some restaurant ettiquette.

But, while we're on it, here's a mini-rant:

Have some fucking common sense. The process of you getting your food is not a difficult one to master:

1) You are seated and look at a menu.

2) I, your ever-pleasant waitress, are informed by you what you would like to eat.

3)I then inform the ever-pleasant kitchen staff (those who have waitressed are giggling right now) what you would like to eat.

Note: if there has been any disruption to the above process to date, I will be shot on sight.

4) The kitchen staff will prepare your meal.

5) I will deliver it.

6) You will eat it. I will then ask if you want dessert, which you probably don't, but I do need my daily dose of futility.

7) I will bring the bill, and you may choose to either pay me or take your bill to the till, where the nearby barista will assist you.

A few variants on this process that simply do not work:

1) Ordering one meal, then five minutes later ordering another for your dining partner. Actually, scratch that, that's all very well and good. However, have some common sense and realise that we're now dealing with two orders, the first having been submitted to the kitchen already, and they will not be up at the same time. Sorry. Next time, make a fucking decision or deal with it.

2) Ordering something that's not on the menu, proclaiming nonchalently in front of your 20-something double-D girlfriend, "I'm a regular! Boss does it all the time!"

Well, that's great. But Boss isn't cooking, and Chef does not appreciate deciphering my notes on what you think you want, but you can't remember, gee, were those tomatoes? Or red peppers?

3) A literal translation of "shooting the messenger" is "snarking at the waitress". Should something go wrong in the process, it's probably not my fault. Look, we're a bakery. Sometimes we run out of croissants. Snarking at me about how we had them yesterday isn't going to magically bake a batch. Sorry.

Likewise, snarking at me for delivering an order with potatoe rye substituted for miche isn't going to make the customer's dentures strong enough to handle the oh-so-chewy miche they couldn't eat last time. For Christ's sake, SORRY.

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