Unfiltered Story #96663

This happened eight years ago, back in 2010. I was 9 1/2 months (yes, you read that right – 42 weeks!) pregnant with my second child, and my family decided to go out for dinner. As I was going in for a c-section the following morning, a few members of our extended family decided to come out for a nice vacation, and to meet the new baby. Our dinner party consists of nine people – seven adults over 21, and two children – an 8 year old, and a 4 year old. The table we’re sitting at is near the back of the restaurant, with the drink stand behind me along the wall, and the kitchen doors along the same wall, across from our table, a couple yards away at the most.

Our dinner party was fairly quiet, the children had a lot of papers to color, and when asked, they each indicated what they wanted for dinner. They were incredibly polite, and were far more interested in what they were drawing than they were in making any noise.

The waiter, on the other hand, treated us as if we’re the biggest inconvenience in his entire evening. We made sure to come in early, at a time when the restaurant shouldn’t have been very busy, but I attempted to order my beverage twice, and when I was given a caffeinated beverage instead, I tried changing it, to no avail. The waiter treated my husband, parents and uncle quite a bit better than he treated my cousin, and sister. He was dismissive towards the children, and he was angry towards me. He didn’t even indicate that he’s listened to our orders, until my husband asked him to read the orders back to him, as he had with the three eldest adults at the table. He huffed and puffed, and did so with attitude.

A few minutes before the entrees are served, the children are politely coloring, and the manager comes by to see how everyone’s doing. I tell him I’d like my drink order changed, but the waiter couldn’t hear me over his walking away, and that I had noticed his deference to the three eldest people at the table. A few minutes later at the drink station in the path of the kitchen but behind me, the waiter was being asked about his serving style while the manager got my new drink, and I overheard this gem:

Waiter: *to manager* Well, obviously I serve who is paying the best, as I’ve been taught at my bartending job! The fat cow won’t pay, she’s more likely to walk out on it! The fuckin’ brats are too busy running all over the place, and the cow’s too busy finding another entree to order to give a damn about what they’re doing.

(My husband had asked for a menu a little bit before he was done with his dinner, because he had wanted to order dessert. The kids had finished their food entirely (a first!), and they had earned desserts. As the waiter was wrapping up his remarks to the manager:)

Me: *to husband* So how much do cows tip?
Husband: Uhm… no, YOU tip the COW. But definitely not 30% like we’ve done here in the past.
Me: *quietly, but while laughing* Honey, he’s not…oh my goodness.

(At this point, my mom interjects:)

Mom: *quietly, leaning towards me, behind the youngest kiddo* Psst! Hey, I’m paying for this!
Me: *quietly too* Wow! Really? That’s very generous, but I’m still employed!
Mom: Yeah, but you’re on leave! I’ve got it.

(I tell my husband about the blueberry muffin on the menu, and mention that I was so glad that my craving for those was over, I was sick of blueberries at that point. We discuss dessert options, make sure the kids know what they want, and we both agree that we should order brownies. The waiter finally meanders back to our table from the drink station, to take our dessert orders. He immediately makes it clear that he had heard my tipping comment, and knows that he’d been heard as well, but…still. Hmm:)

Waiter: *looks at me* And ma’am? What will you have?
Me: Hmm. *closes menu* I’ll have the chocolate –
Waiter: Good! *turns to my husband* And for you, sir?
Husband: *sternly* Wait until she’s finished.
Me: *looks the waiter in the eye* I will have a chocolate brownie.
Husband: And I will have the same. (yes, that is an exact quote.)

(The waiter takes the entire table’s orders, including the children’s sundaes, and scurries off to the kitchen. He comes out less than five minutes later with six of the nine desserts. I notice that my brownie, as well as the children’s sundaes, are missing. I try to get his attention to ask about the three remaining desserts, but he ignores me, and doesn’t say a single word to any of us while serving the desserts. No “the rest will be out in a minute” or “I don’t have room on my tray and I’ll be right back”. Nada. After the waiter sets my husband’s brownie in front of him, he ends up loitering near the kitchen door, a couple yards away from the table, watching us, but apparently blind to my husband’s and my attempts to get his attention. The manager comes out of the kitchen as the rest of the table is finishing with their desserts, with two sundaes, and a mountain shaped blob with a pad of butter melting all over the top that had an X cut into it, that could have been a blueberry muffin the previous year…)

Manager: *to me* Sorry for the wait, ma’am. *attempts to set the suspected “blueberry muffin” down*
Me: No! No. Really. I did not order this. There is no way. I did, however, order the chocolate brownie, but your waiter once again tried to ignore my request. Maybe he thinks I was speaking cow? But, my husband literally said “I’ll have the same thing”, so how did he end up with a brownie if y’all think I ordered this monstrosity?
Manager: *immediately embarrassed* Uh, uhm. Er, oh yeah. I’m so sorry about everything. I’ll have that brownie right out to you. *hands the kids their sundaes* I must say, you guys are so well behaved, thank you! My kids would be running amok by now, but you’ve been very courteous all evening! The table next to you guys has had nothing but great things to say about you, too.
Eldest kid: Thank you!
Youngest kid: I have a coloring book! See? I’m painting a Spongebob! *holds up crayon-covered pages*
Manager: Wonderful! That’s just… great. Great, yeah. *to me* I’ll be right out with your dessert.

(Five minutes later, the waiter flounces over and drops the check in front of my uncle, narrowly missing his dessert plate. My mom takes the check from him after a brief argument, and my husband distracts me with a cute magic trick he’s showing the kids, as the check is paid.

The brownie never showed up. And I still have no idea how much my mom tipped on the order. I hope it was still over ten percent. No waiter, no matter how awful their day is going, deserves to be stiffed – and by that, I mean given less than a ten percent tip. Even if the waiter ignores one person at the table like what happened in my situation, the other eight people there were given adequate service. We all compared our experiences that evening after the fact, but my mom would only confirm that she was charged correctly.)