Mmm… Tastes Like Week-Old Fish…

No, I’m not talking about a certain genitalia. I’ve been having a few more new readers pop up on the site, so I decided to do a look-back at the some of my favorite past posts  that the new readers might have missed.

It’s Restaurant Q&A Boys and Girls!

How to be Treated Like Restaurant Royalty.

Why Is It Rude To Want To Enjoy Your Night Out?

In The Restaurant, You’re Not As Special As You Think You Are.

Proper Tip Procedure.

Tales Of Restaurant Ignorance!

Happy Birthday! Now Here’s Your Cake. Choke On It.

I May Not Be Ethnic, But I Love Eating Like I Am.

Why Don’t Women Sit On Toilet Seats Like Men Do?

To-Go or Not To-Go; That is the Question

I hope you enjoyed the look back and the fond memories we had together over these past couple months. Love and kisses! Bleh.

Quit stealing my Goddamned pens!!

Seriously! We need those pens!

Does it say anywhere on the menu “Paneed fish with rice pilaf and your waiter’s pen“? No it doesn’t.

This is one of the little things that annoy me the most. All the restaurants that I have worked in have required me to carry three pens minimum for the purpose of handing them out to customers to sign credit card bills. So when customers take my pen, it makes it a nuisance to get my customer to sign a credit card bill, especially if there’s more than two tickets at the table. If you take my pen, I then have to go around and ask my co-workers to let me borrow a pen from them so I can give it to the customer. Hopefully, they won’t steal that one too!

This is especially the case when the waiter has special pens that they like. Personally, I love the click pens with the rollerball tip that leave a nice thick, flowing penstroke. It makes it easier for me to write down things in my chicken-scratch handwriting, as opposed to your 25 cent BIC pens. I’ve even see people bring colored pens or other fancy pens to their table so they can distinguish themselves. But, if those get stolen – I’ve seen one girl flip out because a customer took her specialty pen.

Even if you desperately need the pen, I don’t care. It’s mine, I need it too. So stop fucking stealing them!

There. Short and sweet.

What?!? You’re Broke?!

Okay, here’s the deal. Don’t go to a fine dining restaurant if you are broke mother fucker.

I mean, I understand that you’re a redneck and might work 80 hours a week at a job that pays you a measly wage just so you can pay the bills and put a roof over your family’s head, and on occasion you want to treat your gap-toothed lady-friend to a fine meal, but a 4-star restaurant is well-above your budget.

I had this guy come in the other night with his beastly-looking wife. I mean, her teeth looked like a Vietnamese jungle booby-trap. It was obvious that this couple were from the redneck suburb of my city. The guy wasn’t much of a Dapper Dan himself. He seemed to me like one of those guys that would wear one of those black shirts with red and orange flames on it. These people were very much out of place, although they were dressed to the nines – well, maybe dressed to the threes. It was kinda obvious that this girl was wearing a dress that she hadn’t seen since prom because it was a little too tight on her rotund-ish frame. However, this nice black dress showed off her faded Denver Broncos tattoo very well.

At first, I figured that they were probably going to be one of those cheap-ass tables that drink water, ordered no apps or dessert, but spend their extra pennies on the entrees because they were already too expensive. But to my surprise, they not only ordered an appetizer, they ordered two! Score! I was already preening myself thinking that my first impressions were wrong and I began to attend to these rednecks like they were high-rollers. To add to my surprise, the guy orders the most expensive thing on the menu, a steak & lobster combination that costs $66. Sixty-six dollars on a single entree! Score, again, maybe? “I wonder if this guy knows he just ordered a $66 entree. He didn’t ask me what the ‘market price’ was that the menu lists” I said to one of my co-workers back in the kitchen. I didn’t care. I was gonna get a nice fat tip off this table because it was already a $110 check. I’m thinking a $20 tip is coming my way. Even moreso when the Broncos fan ordered a glass of Riesling (by the way, this is the wine that ingorant wine-drinkers order at restaurants when they dont want to look like an ignorant wine-drinker when they order White Zinfandel because they know it’s a sweet, white, cold wine).

So, after it was all said and done, the bill ended up being $124. Nice. I dropped the bill with my usual “I’ll take care of this at your convenience”. I started to get uncomfortable when they started studying the bill with wide-eyes. Hell, I think I even saw the Bronco on the rotund-bride’s upper breast mouth the words “what the fuuuuuuck?” I saw that guy sifting through his wallet, which is never a good sign. He handed me the bill the next time I came back and they got up. Oh shit. I knew what was coming. I hurried back to the kitchen opened the book and counted the cash in the black plastic folds: $127. That broke-ass white-trash redneck left me a $3 tip on a $124 check. I was FURIOUS. After I did the math regarding the amount of money I’d have to tip my busser off of that check, I actually had to pay the restaurant $1.87 to wait on that table.

You see, there were three things wrong with this situation: one, he didn’t ask me about the price of the steak & lobster; two, he didn’t think the bill could possibly be over $120 so he didnt bring more than that; and three, he didn’t have a credit card.  I wonder what would have happened if they had ordered dessert and the bill was $130?

Later, I asked my manager what would happen to me if I saw that guy at his favorite hangout, Wal-Mart, and confronted him about being a cheap bastard. Unfortunately, she said I’d probably be fired if he complained, but oh well. The only thing that made me content was thinking about how big of a dent I had put in his checkbook and how many hours he’d have to spend at his mechanic shop to pay for that one meal.

You see, just down the street from my restaurant is an Applebee’s. This was probably a better choice for him and his personal linebacker, but because my restaurant is a “nice restaurant”, he wanted to treat her to a dress-up meal. Which is great and all, people do it all the time. The funny thing is that they stick out like a sore thumb. Usually they look around awkwardly, can’t pronounce words like “demiglace”, and generally just look like they’re trying too hard. The sad thing is that the waiter ends up suffering because these people generally don’t eat out, which is an indication that they don’t know how to tip. Getting a tip of $3 on a $124 check, or like my co-worker had once a $2 tip on a $98 check, can hurt us just as much as it hurts you. Any normal couple that comes into my restaurant would have left me $20-$24. That’s a wasted two hours of work if you go by an hourly wage.

There are still “nice restaurants’ that can fit your budget. Any average restaurant that the waiters wear a tie will do. You know, like, Olive Garden.

So, Where’s Your Paparazzi?

You know, they look a lot more average in person. Of course, I’m speaking of celebrities. Well, I could have been speaking of paintings or show dogs, but show dogs don’t have paparazzi.

I waited on my first big-time celebrity the other night. I had seen local TV personalities before, but they’re just regular people like you and me; not the big ballaz that everyone makes a big ho-hum stink about. This particular celeb falls into the special “Musical Reality TV Show” Celebrity category. You know, Rock Star Supernova, Nashville Star, American Idol kind of celebrity. Honestly, I had no idea who the hell he was until I talked to my mother who watched the show he was on. She flipped her shit when I told her who he was because apparently he’s from our town.

Anyway, this guy was a pretty nice fellow. Very down to earth, which made me wonder why we as a society put celebrities up on a pedestal. I suppose it’s because they’re on TV and somewhat “out of reach”. Perhaps he’s “that guy” that everyone knows but doesn’t REALLY know. I, myself, am a closet celeb-nut. Getting back to the topic at hand – our Average-Joe-Made-Big – it was also pretty damn surprising that such a big musical star would be with such an average looking girl. I mean hell, if I was a star, my arm-candy would be hand-picked and top notch. Oh well, I guess I’m just a bit judgmental.

My sister happens to wait tables as well, out in Malibu, California. Seeing celebrities is a regular thing for her: Sean Penn, Nick Lachey… She even swears that Sean William Scott is gay.

The one thing that I do know is that celebrities are just like everyone else when it comes to tipping: they’re unpredictable. I suppose we think that since they have tons of money, they’ll just drop a huge tip on the check, but if they’re personally cheapasses, then even with a lot of money they’ll still be a cheapass.

Oh, and I also learned from seeing a co-worker do this: they don’t like “the help” asking for autographs, and neither do your employers.

Short and Bittersweet

(To those that have read my past posts) I forgot to mention to you that my new fine dining restaurant offers free bread to tables….

….Fuck.

David Vs. Goliath: No Holds Barred Cage Match!

Sorry about not posting in a while regular readers, but I’ve just been busy. I’ve been thinking about the topic of comparing locally owned restaurants to corporately owned for a while, so I figured it was time to finally write it. With no further adieu…

LLLLLEEEET’S GET READY TO RUMMMMBLLLLLLE*!!!!

Round 1: Management

In a locally owned restaraunt (LOR), your employers are usually your managers. The guy you see walking around the restaurant barking orders is often the same guy who signs your paycheck at the end of the week. This can be a little intimidating, since at the drop of a hat he can decide to stop signing those paychecks and boot your sorry butt out the door. Also, most of the management have usually been at that location as long as the restaurant’s been open, or have had other experience with the current management elsewhere. This is usually a good thing because it breeds loyalty and it shows that the owners are inclined to promote from within rather than bringing in someone from the outside. Also, in most cases, LOR’s pay less to their management for various financial reasons and don’t offer benefits. In a corporate owned restaurant (COR), your employers are big-wigs in another city altogether sitting behind a desk determining whether or not your employment will increase their overall figures. Usually a COR hires outside management to run the restaurant or come in to replace management that leaves. Most often these new managers have degrees in the industry or business, and many years of experience, so it’s pretty uncommon to see a COR hire from within. On the flip side, COR’s generally pay a lot more than LOR’s. An assistant manager at a LOR might make $25,000 whereas the same job at a COR might make $34,000 and get full benefits.

As I am not a manager, I have to look at it from the employee standpoint. I actually prefer a more personable, direct management that I feel like I can relate to and possibly make a difference to the restaurant if the opportunity should arise. I like to know who I am working for, as I am a very loyal person. So, I have to give this round to: Locally Owned Restaurants.

Round 2: Money

LOR’s and COR’s both have their ups and downs in this category. As there are many LOR’s that are pretty crummy – dealing with maybe 40 tables all day in the restaurant – finding a high-paying LOR can be difficult. It’s possible to find them, but you’ll rarely find one in a town with a small population, or be able to work in one without years of experience. If you can find a LOR that has high-PPA (Per Person Average), the money can flow like a river of tears at a Detroit Lions game. A COR, however, you will find in just about every po-dunk town big enough to have a major interstate running through it. Try to drive through southern California and see if you can go an hour without seeing a Chili’s, Applebee’s, or Le Madeliene. The unfortunate side is that there are more CORs that deal with high-volume rather than high-PPA , which means you get crappier clientele. High-volume can equal good money though. Also, when it comes time to get your paycheck, because a COR usually has a detailed and highly-connected computer system, often enough they can pay you your credit card tips immediately before you leave at the end of the night. With a LOR, you generally have to wait a week or two to receive your paycheck with your credit card tips on it. Having cash in your pocket can be dangerous as it has a tendency to burn a hole in your pocket. But as we all know: a hole in your pocket usually means that balls are getting played with.

As I like to have cash at the end of the night, but I also enjoy receiving huge paychecks, I have to give this round to: A Tie.

Round Three: Stress

Working in a restaurant can be extremely stressful, no matter which kind you work at. There are always gimmicks going on, advertisements for free stuff, or restaurant protocols that you have to follow. Most protocols in LOR’s are developed by management and can be changed at the drop of a hat, whereas protocols in COR’s are across the board in every location and are rarely ever changed, unless some big sweeping event happens (like a woman vomiting up steak all over the bathroom). Often enough, if you have a problem with the way things are run in the restaurant, you won’t get very far in either kinds of restaurants, but a LOR is more inclined to listen to you, as you are a lot more important to them than you would be in a COR. In terms of stress, a COR have set rules on how you should approach a table. If you’re uncomfortable doing these things (singing and dancing, or writing your name on the table), then it can be pretty stressful and make you not want to work there. A LOR generally will let you greet tables however you want as long as you’re not rude.

Scheduling is usually easier in a COR as often the management is required to give you a two-week schedule or a set schedule, rather than leaving it up to a manager to hammer out a schedule every week in a LOR.

However, when it comes down to it, I hate singing and dancing, and I feel sorry for those folks who work in fake country restaurants like Lonestar and have to dance every time a certain song comes on, so I have to give the final round and match to: Locally Owned Restaurants.

Hallelujah, am I proud to work in a Locally Owned Restaurant, and so should you!

Post Edit: That ending was gay, so I decided to add a little more:

Just to add a bit more, you’re a lucky sonovabitch if you find yourself working at a Locally Owned Fine Dining Restaurant. It’s a fucking gold-mine, people. It’s the easiest job I’ve ever had and you dont have to wear skimpy orange shorts. Yeh, that was a call out, what of it?

Movin’ on up…. to the east side…

So, I finally quit at the now “old” restaurant – let’s call it “The Bistro”.

The reason I left this job was for probably the most important reason for any waiter to leave: money. A few months ago, I had been bartending most of the shifts I worked, making ample amount of money each week to pay my bills, feed myself, etc. Well, as of two months ago, the outside investors of the Bistro decided that they wanted to have “pretty girls” behind the bar instead of guys. So, they started to phase the two other guy bartenders and me out of the money-making bar shifts. Funny thing, though: those pretty girls are for the most part completely inept. Many times have I had to wait at least 5 minutes to get a beer or a mixed drink because they were flirting with a customer at the bar, while my customers are getting irritated.

Anyway, as I started losing my money-making shifts, they also started giving me busser shifts, making $7 an hour. To me, this was basically worthless. With all these changes to my schedule, I found myself having a hard time making ends meet.

Luckily, I knew a contact at a local fine dining restaurant, set up a meeting and got a job working for him. Going from the Bistro to the Fine Dining was a drastic change.

Most fine dining restaurants you’ll see have waiters that have been there for years – like, 10 or 20. That’s because they’re making a ton more money, enough to realize that it’s like working a regular, salaried job when it comes to cashing those paychecks. It makes a huge difference, I noticed, and here’s the reason why:

Of course it’s simple, the tickets are more expensive, so the tips are bigger. On the flip side, you end up having fewer tables because people tend to sit and enjoy their meal for longer periods of time. So, we’re talking tickets for two people over $100, which is almost unheard of in my previous jobs.

Getting a job in a fine dining restaurant is a helluva lot tougher than your average Chili’s, or even a Bistro. Most fine dining restaurants will only take waiters who have a ton of experience, a certain look, and a desire to be a long-term employee. Fitting those requirements can be difficult for 80% of the waiting workforce. Even if you have two or three years experience in the industry, a fine dining restaurant will often have you bussing tables for a few months, which is often unappealing. It’s understandable that you may not want to do that because you just came back from waiting tables. Bussing doesn’t sound like an option, I know, but sometimes you have to bite the bullet.

The other thing that is an interesting thing about working in a fine dining restaurant is the apparent emphasis on “seniority” or the theory that a person who’s been there longer deserves the better sections/shifts. I like this idea, except for the fact that I’m the new guy, and as they say “shit always rolls downhill”. So, I have to put in my time as the new guy, get shit on from time to time, but eventually I’ll come out smelling like a rose that somebody gave me on my birthday death bed. Oh, and making the fine dining dough.
Cheers!

Ti-ii-ii-ime…. is on my sii-iide…. yes it is…..

I’ve never been one to do a daily blog.

There are too many day-to-day blogs out there, so I try to keep my blog posts to having points to them; lessons learned. A lot of the boring blogs out there that have hundreds of posts because they document every detail, but I’m sure those that really do follow my blog have learned that by now this is not something I do. I hope you readers understand that, but I’m sure there are those faithful that check my blog on a fairly regular basis to see if I typed anything new. I really do appreciate seeing those numbers and such, so I want to thank you for continuing to check up. Of course, I’m sure there are those readers who thank me too, for not having a day-to-day blog. Do you really want me to continue to repeat the same stories, drama, and conversations that I have on a regular basis at the restaurant? I sure hope not, cause then you’d be a little too obsessed and that would creep me out.

However, I’m sure most of you faithful readers have noticed that I have a tendency to write about things that annoy me.  Sure there are great stories to tell, like the guy who left me a $34 tip on a $94 check, or funny little anecdotes I hear from customers, but that’s not why you read is it? You want stories about stupid-ass rednecks who want their tuna well done, or people slicing their fingers off.

Lately, we’ve been getting this rash of people who come into the restaurant early, before opening. Just like every other establishment around the country, we have our hours posted on the door. The restaurant opens at 11:00 am. Chew on that for a little while. Yet, for some reason, these people still want pull a “boomer sooner” and claim their stake like Tom Cruise in “Far and Away” (This is MY land! Mine by destiny!”) Many times we’ve attempted to lock the door. Sometimes creatively: we once had this guy who saw that someone was walking up to the door, he ran along the floor like a monkey on all fours and locked it before they could reach for the handle. But most of the time, we grit our teeth and let them in.

You know, there’s a reason why we don’t let people in at 10:40. We’re not done setting up the restaurant yet and we’re setting our mojo, enjoying our Flo Rida (Yall don’t understand, make me throw my hands In the ayer , ay , ayer , ayer , ay , ayer). So, you walking in early fucks up our mojo and sets us in a bad mood all day. Do you really want to be the reason that an entire staff has a bad day? Just sit in your G-ddamn car for another 20 minutes. It’s not our fault you’re early.

The same goes for you Johnny-come-lately’s who think you can get a table five minutes after we close. “Awww… sorry, we’re closed. Shucks!”

I can’t tell you how much I love telling people that we’re close. It’s the few times I get a chance to tell customers to “fuck-off”…in a polite way at least. I will even make an effort to be at the hostess stand when I see someone pull up after closing so I could be the one to destroy their hopes and dreams for an order of Blue Cheese Chips. But, boy do I hate those assholes who walk in five minutes before closing. “Hi, are you open? Oh, you close in five minutes? Great, we just made it! We need a table for two.” All I can think about those people is hoping that someone is punching their baby somewhere.

My remedy for those people who come in five minutes before closing is telling them “Technically we are open for five more minutes, but the kitchen is closing up.” See what I did there? Pretty sneaky, huh?

But my all-time favorite is telling the people who come into the restaurant for happy hour that their watch is wrong. They’ll walk in at 4:50 or so and order a drink off of our happy hour menu. Sorry buddy, but you get it when you order it and I have to put it in the machine for you to get it. You get charged full price my friend, for being early. I had one guy come in and order a happy hour beer, tell him the full price cost and he points to his phone and says, “uhh… it’s 5:00″ to which I smugly replied, “uhh… we go by our clock, and it says you have five more minutes.” He didn’t tip me, but hey, it was worth it. Feel free to wait to order your drink, but don’t think I’m going to serve you a cheaper beer and wait to put it into my machine so you can save two dollars and not toss it to me on the back-end, maybe if I knew you I would, but you’re a chump who is impatient.

I really don’t care if you are sitting outside in the heat or im/patiently waiting at the bar for happy hour, none of us want to budge on our time. That’s our time. You can wait.

You really f*cked up now…

It happens to us all.

You messed up – bad – and you fear that your job may be on the line. I don’t care if you work in the restaurant industry or not (probably you do), we all make huge mistakes that can only be remedied by offering your boss your first born child.

Let me give you an example: You’re having a really crappy day. Your car wouldn’t start this morning until you sweet-talked it for 15 minutes promising to get it a car wash and a new set of wiper blades. You get into work 23 minutes late and your boss is yelling at you for your lack of work ethic and iterates that it’s in the employee handbook that you are to call ahead of time if you are going to be late. Finally he gets off your back but everyone else is still riding you for making them work harder to open the restaurant. The shitstorm just never ends. You get in the weeds – no, ass-raped without lube – and of course your tables start to complain to you about the service and food taking so long which you know you have no control over.

(In a nasaly tone) “Maam! This food is cold!” – “Maam, we’ve been sitting here for 25 minutes without food.” – “Maam, I need some more tea”.

And then it happens.

“I’ll get your fucking tea, hold on!”

….

Oh no. You committed a cardinal sin of the service industry. You dropped the f-bomb on the dining room floor. Only this bomb has a reverse effect of what was dropped on Hiroshima: engulfing the entire room in silence and has a kill rate of one person: you. Not only did you swear, but you swore at a customer. The bread and butter of the restaurant industry.

As if your day wasn’t stressed out enough, you get yanked into the manager’s office and your ass is chewed like a pittbull at Michael Vick’s house. How could you do this? Are you insane? Whatever is on that manager’s mind, you will hear it. There are only three ways this situation ends, and only one of them saves your ass and your job: you quit, you’re fired, or you beg.

Hopefully, if you’re reading this blog, you care enough about your restaurant job that the third option is the only option available.  Now, I don’t know if you do care about the job or not. Perhaps you hated that place and you just needed a reason to leave, but I certainly don’t believe in leaving a job on bad terms. It’s just bad business. The best option is to beg, in my opinion. First of all, in a restaurant, they’re not going to fire you in the middle of a lunch shift. Well, that is unless they have the manpower to replace you. Then you could be screwed.

But I tell you what, my example was an extreme one. Hopefully you’d never do something like that because it’s a death knell. To a restaurant, the most important person in that building is the customer. By swearing, you not only disrespected the customer you were talking to forcing them to call on the manager and promise to never come in again, but every customer around you probably heard you. In the manager’s eyes, the probability of those patrons returning are slim, too. That is not good. That’s money out of the pockets of the owners and the managers. You are replaceable. They aren’t. Guess who’s probably not going to be around tomorrow?

In my experience, I’ve only known a guy do something so egregious that he got fired. He walked out in the beginning of a shift to go spend time with family during a football game on TV. Now, I understand that he had requested off – and been promised off – weeks in advance and he had every right to be upset, but a job is important no matter how lowly of a job it is. He ended up being rehired after he signed a contract saying that he would be basically a perfect angel and take a demotion until he could prove himself.

I used to stress myself out a lot over my work. I try extremely hard to give equal time to every one of my customers so noone has to wait a long time. I realized that people who’s food got out quickly, refills got to them in a timely fashion, and felt attended to left better tips. I guess it was my experience working for a corporate restaurant that had a policy that no table should go 30 seconds without being greeted. Later in my experience, I started to realize that bigger tips can also come from the attitude that you carry with you from table to table. I started to have a mantra “They can wait”. My engrained 30-second greet time became a minute or two, especially if I was busy. Just this little change slowed me down and made me feel less rushed. A less-rushed waiter means a happier waiter. A happy waiter means happy customers (usually). Happy customers leave bigger tips. I hope you’re following me.

Perhaps, before you lose your job over a four-letter word, realize that things aren’t as bad as they really seem. Leave your life-stresses at the door, slow down and get yourself a mantra. You can borrow mine for $4.95 and hour.

Now, fuck off.

To-go or not to-go; that is the question.

Welcome back ladies and gentlemen. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything new, but hey, how much is there to write about the restaurant industry? “A lot! You’ve written so much” you might say.

“Oh, ho, ho! Although I write some pretty damn amazing stuff, it is only so limited to my experiences and beliefs instead of me criticizing the little day-to-day things!” I’d reply. Now, if you’d rather me write shorter blog posts about the daily things that I see that I could write on, I’ll start doing that. However, it is my utmost belief that you, the loyal reader (all 6 of you), deserve exactly what you have been getting the past couple months: nice, long, TLDR (Too Long Didnt Read) walls of text, belittling the average man, woman and child to the point of sounding pompous and arrogant in my own special little way without actually being pompous or arrogant. Oh, and long-ass lines of sentences without periods or proper grammar.

I have a few topics in mind that I could write on, but I just write when I feel like it. That is, unless I was getting paid.

Today’s topic is about the fine art of To-Go food. To-Go was a concept started by Mac Cromwell in 1927 in the podunk town of Sharpersville, Idaho when his potato restaurant had an abundance of people wanting to walk into his restaurant and walk out with food off of his regular menu. Now, that was a total pile of bullcrap, but hey, it made you think “really? huh, interesting”, didn’t it?

Just about every restaurant with a menu has the ability to take To-Go orders. Generally they might send out their menu in the mail to thousands of residents, or they’ll have the menu online. But most of the orders come from people who have dined in once, but don’t want to dine in again on a particular night. So, they call up and order stuff with which they are familiar and come in to pick it up to bring home to the chibblets and spouse.

Usually, one person in the restaurant is responsible for To-Go food. Your regular waiter isn’t going to be waiting tables and taking to-go orders, unless it’s a special job like a bartending/waiting/To-Go amalgamation; a “to-go specialist” as they are sometimes referred.

The unfortunate thing is the lack of actual ability of some people to place a To-Go order. It isn’t too difficult to place a to-go order, but sometimes it seems like some people just left their brains sitting on the kitchen counter when they picked up the phone and smashed the numbers on their cell phones enough times until they got the right number like a team of monkeys typing Shakespeare. Let me give you a scenario: A 45-year old man calls up one of his family’s favorite restaurant at 8:00 pm to place a to-go order. With the employee on the phone, the man turns to his family over his shoulder and asks them what they want. Little Timmy can’t decide, the wife wants to order something that was a special 3 months ago and he cant decide between the steak and the chef salad (but he thinks he might want the chef salad without the cheese, though). Five minutes goes by and they finally get everything together, get their total bill – $21.54 – and hangs up after the employee tells him it would be 25-30 minutes. He goes and picks up the food that’s waiting for him 45 minutes later, pays with a credit card and signs the bill without leaving a tip. Happily, he returns to his car and drives home until he realizes that his food is cold and calls up the restaurant to complain to the manager.

What’s wrong with this all-to-common picture? Can’t figure it out, Captain Oblivious? I’ll spell it out in detail.

First, he called up in the middle of dinner rush without figuring out what his family wants ahead of time. If you don’t know your favorite items from your favorite restaurants, then try to find them online, or have an idea of what you want to eat. Also, he’s got to understand that a restaurant is usually extremely busy between 11:30 – 1:30, and 7:00 – 9:00. These are the “rushes”. By delaying his order as much as he did, his one call took up a whole 5 minutes placing an order that should have been made in 45 seconds. He may have cost that to-go employee quite a bit of money from other orders because they decided to hang up and order somewhere else.

Second, he didn’t ask his wife for a second option in case the special wasn’t on the menu anymore. Usually if an item is a “special”, it will only be on the menu for a brief period of time. You should always check to make sure that the specials haven’t changed if you are planning on calling in to order one.

Third, He didn’t leave any kind of tip for causing the person on the other line trouble. I know this may sound pompous, but this is someone’s livelyhood. That person taking to-go orders rely on massive amounts of orders to make any kind of money. One out of every nine or 10 orders will leave a tip. That’s sad.

And fourth, he picked his food up much later than he was told to do so. If the to-go employee says 25-30 minutes, get there 25-30 minutes if you want your food to be hot and fresh. Don’t expect the kitchen to keep your food hot for you while the restaurant waits for you to pick up your food. We don’t really care that your food is cold when you pick it up. It was hot when we made it 15 minutes ago. This is the only time that we are pretty much allowed to tell you that you’re a failure to your face and you should have gotten here earlier. Well, in nicer terms of course (damn tact).

Listen to these rules and heed by them. Because if you are placing a lengthy order over the phone and you hear the other person let out a really long sigh, yes, it’s because you’re an asshole!