Serving Servents Service: An Open Letter To Entitled Restaurant Patrons

This is an open letter to anyone who has ever yelled at me about a salad, told me I was incompetent because their beer took too long to be poured and under tipped me because they didn’t enjoy their meal.

We are the servers. The people who eat dinner at 11:00 at night. The people that live off the type of service they give to others. The people who become like your family if you let them. But, this is not about us. This about you. The people who feel entitled to have the world at their feet when they enter a restaurant. Their favorite table, the drink the bartender made them a couple weeks ago with the stuff and the other stuff in it, the TV set right in front of them to their favorite team, no not that TV the other one! And most of all- they want me to make sure nothing goes wrong.

This is not a sob story. I actually thouroughly enjoy my job and the people I work with. It’s hard work and serving has helped me in more ways I could count. It’s great money and it’s definitely well earned. And while I don’t plan to do this forever, I’m here for the mean time. Having said that, this is an ode to anyone who has ever been rude to their server. I just want to thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t have stories. I wouldn’t be grateful for my regulars that always ask me the same questions and get the same things. Without you, there would be no need to vent about a sh** tip or complain in the back about the mean lady who didn’t like her cocktail and without the venting there would be no bonding. You make me appreciate how I was raised and the kind of person I have fought to become. You make me realize how nice my family is when we do go out to eat. You make me thankful for all the times I’ve messed up and had to admit I’m not a perfect person.

Because as scary as that might be to see the person taking your order as a real person- it’s more true than the façade you yourself put off. Sometimes the keg blows or the cooks didn’t make the pizza thin or I forget to put in your salad or the hostess gives you the table in the back. No one does it on purpose and sometimes that’s life.

But I want to be thankful for the mean and spiteful people who eat out. Because after you leave and I’ve prebussed your table and I’ve counted my tips and done my side work, I get a fresh start. I get to greet the next table and I get to go back to work with a clean slate every time no matter what happened with our encounter. You keep me on my toes and you make me appreciate the kind people left in this world.

XOXO,

I’m killing you with kindness because I have no choice, here is your water with lemon.