Being a Waiter and Being Stiffed: The Joy of Waiting Tables

I was waiting tables at a casual dining restaurant in my early twenties, trying desperately to make it by on approximately $30 a day. I was brand new, so I was generally only scheduled lunch shifts, which meant around $200 in sales.

Now for those who aren't aware, servers have to "tip-out" some of their co-workers. For example, at this particular restuarant, 2% of one's total sales went to the food runners and 5% of liquor sales went to the bartender. Other restaurants where I've worked have had bussers or hosts who also take a certain percentage of those sales.

That's right, it's based on sales. Not tips. That means if you sell $100 worth of food and drink and only receive a mere 10% tip ($10), you will tip-out more than half of what you made.

Taxes are typically based on sales as well, so sometimes those poor tips pull money from your paychecks. Keep in mind, many states only pay two or three dollars an hour to tipped employees (and to be considered a "tipped employee" one only needs to make a meager $30 a month in tips). This means that if you have a table tip you poorly, you may actually end up paying to wait on them.

Wait a minute... don't people usually get jobs to make money? Who in their right mind pays to do work? Who would honestly pay money out of their own pocket to bring some stranger food and drinks, and clean up after the mess they leave behind?

Okay, let's get to the story.

So it was my first week, and I was working my usual lunch shift. I had a table of five in the middle of the restaurant sucking down drinks and on their third refill.

It was then that I was informed that I was to take a table in the corner. It was another group of five.

I happily skipped over and greeted the table, laughing and joking along with them as they pondered whether or not to order alcohol.

There were four ladies and one gentleman, and all the women coerced him into ordering a beer. I uttered a genuine giggle and retreated to enter their drinks into the computer.

In the meantime, I thought I'd bring them each a glass of water with lemon while we waited for the bartender to mix their drinks. As I was exiting the kitchen, I noticed how quickly the bartender was working, and that he was nearly finished with all of them.

I took a few of the drinks and added them to my tray, while grabbing five appetizer plates with my right hand.

When I reached the table, the most horrible thing you can possibly imagine happened.

I spilled the drinks all over myself. I even broke a glass.

Before I knew it, three or four of my co-workers, including a manager, rushed over and began cleaning up the mess I'd made. I was mortified, but at the same time, impressed and touched by the great amount of teamwork happening around me.

One of the ladies had a bit of a spill on her pants, and I apologized profusely to everyone at the table. They assured me that it was okay, and smiled. I was so relieved that they weren't angry.

The new drinks were ready right away, and it seemed we didn't miss a beat as far as the steps of services were concerned. The table even joked with me that the lady I'd spilled on would be in trouble at work for smelling like alcohol.

We'd established quite a report, and I managed to give them impeccable service despite the intense embarrassment I was feeling. I managed not to cry throughout the entire meal, even though I desperately wanted to.

"Can we have more red sauce?"

"Will you mix us another medium-spiced sauce?"

Request after request, I'd happily oblige, returning quickly with each mixture. Their waters were refilled without asking, dirty plates were removed immediately, and their second round of bar drinks arrived right away.

"Can you add some grenadine to this Mai Tai?" one lady asked, and without question, I ran off and fixed it to her liking.

The whole time they spent at our restuarant, I made them the priority over all my other tables in an attempt to make up for my clumsiness.

After wrapping up their leftovers and bringing them extra free dessert cookies, I placed their bill on the table, with a cute note on top saying, "Thank you for being so nice!!" accompanied by a big smiley face and my name.

One of the ladies motioned me over.

"Um, nothing against you, but a drink was spilled... why isn't anything taken off the bill?"

I immediately apologized (for what seemed like the hundredth time) and ran off to see my manager. She quickly approached the table.

I was busy with four other tables, so I was not able to stand by and listen to what was going on, but my manager told me right as she finished that she had offered to pay for the dry cleaning bill, and that she'd asked if anything else had been wrong with the service or the food.

Naturally, they had nothing negative to say about either. It was clear they'd had a great meal with perfect service (aside from the accident at the beginning), and couldn't think of any reasonable excuse for the management to pay for any of their meal.

She'd given them her card and told me to present them with the same bill and to let her know if anything else was said thereafter.

I dropped the bill again, and saw them all counting on money in preparation to pay. They filled the check presenter and waited for me to return.

I rushed over to see if they needed change or if they had a credit card. As I picked up the check presenter, a few pennies fell on me.

"Oops, I'm sorry," I giggled as I reached down to grab the pennies.

"Let's go," one of them commanded.

When I opened the book to toss the pennies back inside, I saw it.

The bill was $107.18. Inside the check presenter was $107... and a few pennies. Oh, and my manager's business card. Clearly the small spill on her black pants really didn't require dry cleaning. That's right, this was a clear-cut case of people just trying to get something free for whatever excuse they could find.

I thought I must be counting wrong at first, but they made it very clear by leaving a hundred dollar bill, a five, and two ones. Nothing else on the table. Five poison looks in my direction as they slowly meandered toward the door.

I looked up, shocked and frozen. They seemed quite pleased with themselves.

"Where do I validate parking?" one of them asked, as if nothing were wrong.

I couldn't even answer her. I was without words.

I watched in horror and confusion as the five of them, all grown-up in their business suits, left without even paying the entire bill. They were proud of what they'd done-- that was clear.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I ran to the bathroom. I cried.

24 years old and crying at work. How pathetic. I felt so low.

It wasn't so much about the money... it was the fact that there were people like this in the universe. People who somehow got off on hurting others.

My co-workers were all immediately concerned, despite not knowing me very well. One of them rushed to bus my tables for me. The others told me similar stories that had happened to them. And apparently those Mai Tai glasses have been the cause of many trays spilling at our place of business.

My manager did all the right things, and made me feel like I was truly wanted at the restaurant, and that things would definitely get better. I will always remember how kindly she treated me.

I've been waiting tables for six years, and I've definitely seen a lot. Like the time one of the members of a party of eight left early without paying, so the rest of the group demanded that the 17% pre-tax gratuity be taken off to compensate. Clearly since their friend didn't pay them, they shouldn't have to pay their waitress, right?

Or the dozens of time when people insist they ordered something differently, without garbanzo beans or onions, and treat you like you're an idiot for getting it wrong. I suppose the majority of people assume if you work in the food service industry, it is simply because you aren't smart enough to get a "real" job. That couldn't be further from the truth, especially here in Los Angeles, where most of us are actors or musicians with college degrees.

I often wonder how those five individuals who stiffed me that day felt about it afterwards. Would they eventually feel a pang of guilt? Would they ever realize how hurtful their actions were?

I pictured them bragging to everyone at the office about what they'd done. Maybe telling everyone how they'd taught me a lesson.

Oh, thank you so much for teaching me not to accidentally drop a tray full of drinks on myself at a table! I never would have known I shouldn't do something like that.

Thank you for teaching me to force my manager to take something off your bill just because you desperately wanted something for free. Because, you know, you can always tell your boss what to do, and clearly it was my fault that you had to pay for everything you ate and drank.

Most of all, thank you for teaching me that all the extra special care I gave you was pointless. But you know what? That's never going to keep me from giving impeccable service to every single table. I take pride in my work, which I'm certain is more than I can say for people like you who down two strong drinks at lunch before returning to the office.

What is this sense of entitlement, that everyone deserves something free for the smallest accidental reason? What is this urge to take money out of someone else's pocket, someone who did a lot of work for you, especially when you clearly have plenty of money to pay for such services?

Thinking of people like this, people who enjoy hurting others, makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me lose a little faith in humankind.

Then I see the servers I work with, right there to help or try to make their co-worker smile.

"Let's get a margarita after work and cheer you up," one of my new friends said.

Suddenly, everything's right with the world. And not just because alcohol's involved. No, it was looking around at everyone who'd helped me out, and seeing that there truly are good people out there.

I just have to remind myself not to let the bad ones get me down, because there is nothing I can do to change those people.

We'll leave that to karma.