I
had a bad feeling about how my New Years Eve shift was going to go the moment I
walked in the door. My manager told me
we were short on bussers. We were down
to just one on one of the busiest days of the year.
The
hotel was sold out. No family rates were available. All 1,000 plus employees
had to park elsewhere (besides the normally empty hotel’s parking structure) and
we weren’t accepting any more reservations because we were booked solid. And we only had one busser. I could already feel the panic attack
starting to develop.
The
first hour or so consisted of a slow build.
Bit by bit, waves of out-of-towners, foreigners, clueless diners,
transients and weirdos began to fill the restaurant. Let me put it this way - the majority of the
people were dining there because of the location, not because they could afford
it or even wanted to be there. It was
obvious. Most of them criticized the
menu items (referring to the actual food we served) as well as complained about
pricing. And most of the diners that day
had no clue about decent wine, beer or cocktails. It was like everyone was transported through
a portal from a strange land in the middle of the earth.
Meanwhile,
everyone needed refills, tables were dirty and my poor lone busser was nowhere to be
found (my guess he was in the dry storage room - in his own land far far away -
crying to his wife on the phone pleading with her that he’ll never work another
day in the restaurant industry ever again).
While I was simultaneously bussing tables, refilling beverages, taking
special food orders that weren’t even on the menu and trying to accommodate
ridiculous guests grumbles, I saw I was being sat a party of nine. Now on a normal, non-holiday, non-busy day,
full of normal guests, I would have
been stoked. On New Years Eve, au contraire.
My
heart raced and I took a deep breath as I heard them speaking a foreign
language. This could go one of two ways;
they’ll either be very low maintenance (order by pointing to the menu and
saying nothing else) or they’ll speak some English and be extremely high
maintenance and it will be the death of me.
Take a wild guess as to which type they were.
I
had a full section outside as the party of nine sat impatiently. The host of the party had his arm up in the
air as to flag me down. I gave him the
universal, “I’ll be right there...” hand motion back. I knew I had to finish all of my business at
my other tables first before I greeted them.
When I was finally ready, I introduced myself. They were Brazilians. I’ve travelled to Brazil and not only was the
country breathtaking, but the people surprised me as well. They were some of the most hospitable, kind,
energetic people, who were full of life and socially outstanding. These people were apparently of a different breed.
The host ordered a bottle
of wine. When I had him try it, he said,
“No good. Bad. Look at the color. I know my wine. Bring me the same one. Different bottle. Also, I don’t see lobster on the menu. Aren’t you a seafood restaurant? You don’t have lobster? ” And my my nightmare continues. I explained to him we have lobster on the
dinner menu, but not on the lunch menu. However,
I told him I could ask the chef. Meanwhile,
I note the rest of my section was already in dire straits. I think
my busser was still hiding in the dry storage room. I saw my manager. I grabbed him. “Please help me. This guy doesn’t like the wine. Can you help him choose a new one? I don’t want to open another one and have him
say the same thing. And frankly I don’t
have time for this.” And as a good manager
would, he complied. I checked with the
kitchen and (only because the chef loves me) they said they’d do it. That’s a $32 plate. Bring on the lobster.
When
I got back to their table and told them we could make the lobster, three of
them ordered it. My nightmare began to shift into a new direction. The automatic gratuity on their table kept
going up and up. Just then my manager handed me the new bottle
of wine. I poured it and the host liked
it. Thank god. I began taking everyone’s order, telling them
obrigada (which means “thank you” in
Portuguese) with a smile . As I was
circling the table, I noted my entire section
glaring at me, upset as all hell because I apparently seemed to have abandoned
them. I was like a captain abandoning my ship. After I took the final order and rang
it in, I started rapidly printing the checks for rest of my section. They all had their credit cards out and were
ready for me when I got back to their tables.
I apologized, but it seemed to do me no good. I swiped all the credit cards and told them
to have a great New Years. I honestly
wished I could have given them all better service, but it was practically
impossible with my nine high maintenance Brazilians. But again, I thought, at least I’ll be
getting the automatic gratuity from them and it will be solid. It will all even out.
Right
about then, my manager asked if I could pick up a ten-top inside. Considering the Brazilians were eating and their demands were slowing down, and the fact the rest of my section was a
wash (having noted my tips from most of my other tables at that time were averaging a mere ten
percent at best), I said I’d take it.
I was, after all, working on New Years Eve. If I was going to be working, I might as well
make the most cash as possible.
The
party of ten turned out to be business locals who were having their end-of-the-year
lunch. And they must have had a successful one. They started ordering drinks like wildfire – champagne,
bottles of sake, mojitos,
shots of Patron Silver and local draft beers to wash it all down. They were shouting sushi orders at me from
all corners of their table and in no particular order. I was having a hard time keeping track of it
all. Every time I went over there, it
was another drink, more appetizers, another sushi roll or a new sashimi
order. They were completely unorganized
and a hot mess, but their check was increasing like crazy every time I was over
there; so in the end, again, it should be worth it. Keep in mind, they were my only table inside,
and I still had my Brazilians and other tables outside. My energy shifted and the heavy drinking
ten-top inside was now taking up all of my time.
The
next thing I knew, the Brazilian host and his wife were at the computer asking
for their check. I swiped the manager’s
card to include the gratuity, which was an additional $50 on their check of
$300. The man freaked out. “What is this? No way we are paying an extra $50! “ I explained to him politely that it is
standard on all parties for six or more to include a gratuity of 18%. He rebutted, “ Well, I don’t have to pay
this. Where is your manager.” You’ve
got to be kidding me. You’re not getting
any more “obrigadas” out of me anymore, you prick. One of the sushi chefs overheard him in
horror and shook her head at me. I felt
the same way. I got my manager and had
her deal with him. At that moment, I was
too angry and disgusted to deal with him, not to mention how busy I was trying
to keep up with the raging party I had going on inside. Mind you, my service was great (it might have
suffered slightly with my overwhelming ten-top, but my Brazilians were
practically finished with their meals when all of that started).
I went above and beyond for these people, to the point that the rest of
my tables suffered. But at the time, I
thought I’d be getting compensated for it.
Apparently not. My manager took
off the 18% and the wife ended up signing the credit card with just her
name. Zero tip. Not even $20 on a $300 check. When I saw that my face flushed
and there might have actually been smoke fuming out of my ears. I took a deep breath and had to trek on. My consuming ten-top needed me.
As
servers, we are actors. After my first entire
three hours of work were practically for nothing, I had to act like I was just as
happy as my party was, celebrating New Years, toasting bubbly and cocktails and
ingesting sushi like it was their last day on planet Earth. If they
only knew. I had to refocus and hope
to god this table would pay their included gratuity. After all, their check was already at $800.
And
they did pay their $150 included gratuity, like normal, upstanding citizens.
In
the end, is was my ten-top that saved me that day. I
was beyond thrilled that I decided to take it.
Of course they stressed me out like the Brazilians did. Of course my other tables suffered (as with
the Brazilians). Of course I should have
been paid that $50 from the Brazilians.
But as they say in this business, it all evens out. And it more than evened out that day for me. Of course I would have preferred to have both
gratuities… but my fate was sealed.
Tit
for tat and them some.
Here's to another year of serving humanity; whether it's automatic gratuity or not ... and everything in between.
And a BIG Happy New Years to all of my readers out there. ~ HK ~
