Third Eye Blind
Last week I got an e-mail from reader Katy Stauffer complaining about servers who drop a check on the table, announce casually, “Pay me when you’re ready” and then disappear for long stretches of time. “Nothing is more irritating (or chips away at the tip) than being held hostage by a server who won’t return in a timely fashion to complete the transaction,” Katy griped.
I agree that being “held hostage” is one of many annoyances that can drive diners crazy, although that doesn’t bother me nearly as much as those freakish, premature-ejaculator types who slap down a check on the table before you’re even halfway through your meal. It’s not just rude and unprofessional but also — typically for ignorant servers — an easy excuse not to refill water glasses or take coffee or dessert orders, thus quickly turning a table. These dopes deserve stingy tips, if not pink slips. I never fail to complain about them to a manager, even though a manager who would permit that sort of lackadaisical service style doesn’t exactly win professionalism awards in my book, either.
I wasn’t a bit surprised when Katy followed up her “hostage” complaint with a list of the worst offenders, including one downtown noodle joint that seems to have a special fondness for hiring the most untalented servers in the city.
There’s a unique talent in having that “third eye,” which permits a server to make a quick visual sweep over his or her station and process a half-dozen thoughts at once: Table 5 needs water. I need to turn Table 3’s dinner order in now. Table 2 is close to finishing up dessert, so they may be requesting the check soon. The woman at Table 6 is looking at her baked potato with a funny expression — I better go check on her.
It’s easy for a server who leaves the dining room for more than a few minutes to lose the particular pulse of his or her station. My favorite example of an absurdly neglectful server took place at Olathe’s Machine Shed Restaurant, when our waitress seemingly vanished into thin air. Just before I flagged down a manager, a busboy accidentally knocked over a screen, and there — exposed for all to see — was Miss Thing, stuffing her face with table scraps from a bus tub.
When she finally arrived with my overdue check, I told her that she probably had a better meal than I did.
