Food For Thought-less Comments

(I’m waiting tables in the cocktail area of a chain restaurant. This area is first-come-first-serve even with the one-hour wait currently at the door for the main dining room. I walk up and greet a couple that just sat at a table. I have seen them occasionally before.)

Male Diner: “We’re in a hurry.”

Me: “Okay, well, since we are busy you will want to order something fast like—” *rattles off the fastest items to make*

Male Diner: “What do you mean, you’re busy?”

Me: “Well, you just walked by the hour-wait at the door, right?”

Male Diner: “Whatever. Maybe if you hired some real cooks instead of those [racial slurs] you have in the kitchen, you could handle it.”

(My jaw drops and I just stare for a beat. I turn around and walk away shaking mad, as I’m close with my cooks and know how much harder they work than most of the people I have ever known. I walk up to my general manager who knows I pride myself on handling any situation.)

Me: “I won’t wait on that table. I mean it, I won’t wait on them. I’ll be out back.”

(I walk out to compose myself. I come back a minute later and the bartender is waiting on them. I ignore them and continue taking care of the rest of my customers. Just before they leave, I decide I can’t keep my mouth shut.)

Me: *coming close and speaking low* “That was pretty brave. I made sure those [racial slurs] knew that that was your food.”

(This was a lie, but I was willing to risk them telling the story to try and get me in trouble and to see the color drain from his face. His wife never said a word through the whole thing. On the plus side, I never saw them again.)