The Reason I Could Never Wait Tables

Last night I went out to grab a late night dinner. For some reason I had a craving for diner style spaghetti, so I set out to find some. I went to a place that is certainly not known for speedy service. I don't want to name any names, so I'll just call it Lenny's.

After arriving at Lenny's, I stood in front of the "Please Wait To Be Seated" sign for about five minutes. I was then escorted to a booth where I placed my order within another five minutes of sitting down. So far, pretty on par with Lenny's service. Thirty-five minutes later I began wondering what could possibly be so hard about making my spaghetti. I know that the two chefs I could see working weren't back there crushing roma tomatoes and chopping fresh basil and garlic, so why was it so hard to heat up my food and send it out on a plate.

With all my frustration with the chefs, I actually felt sorry for my waitress. She had zero control over this situation, yet she was the one stuck giving me the bad news and apologies. I was nice to her. I refused to let myself turn in to the kind of jerk that just yells at whatever face happens to be in front of them. She apologized no less than four times and the last one looked like she was stressed to the point of tears. I assume that was because some of the other tables were being less understanding.

This woman was doing her job as best she could and probably got little to no tips from most of her tables because of the incompetency of the kitchen. That is why I could never wait tables. You could do an incredible job and still get a small tip and a comment card that cited "bad service" simply because the folks in the kitchen couldn't get their spaghetti together.