Last week, I interviewed a lot of former servers and bartenders about the reasons they’re not going back to the profession. The stories I heard were rough, to say the least.
I’m sure many of you have had a job in the hospitality business, so I’m curious: what’s the worst experience you’ve had? What was the straw that broke your figurative camel’s back?
I know women face sexual harassment and abuse on the regular in this industry, so it feels a little silly to tell this one, but I used to work at a counter-service pizza place, and honestly, I loved that job. However, one time a large group came in and everyone was ordering on different tabs and there were multiple orders of chicken wings going out to the group. I dropped a basket off on one side of the table and a man, looking pleasantly surprised, just started going to town on them—didn't even ask the group who's wings they were. A few minutes pass and the original wing-orderer comes up and asks where his wings are? I point to the other guy in the group and say "oh, I think he ate them." They both start arguing with me and want to see the order ticket. I've since thrown away the ticket, but they point to the trash and say, oh just look in there. So I'm rummaging through the trash, pulling out all these old order tickets, hating the world, and I finally find theirs. It's the very last one. I show it to them, proving I'm right. They both kind of sheepishly slump, and quietly order another basket of wings.
As much as it hurt my dignity to dig through trash, the look on their faces when they realized they were wrong was A+. And those wings were only $10.
As Nichole wrote, it’s hard to narrow it down to even one restaurant. There was a French place, though, in Westwood California, not far from fraternity row.
The manager was a guy named Mario and it should have made me think when he hired me without training and threw me into a busy service schedule, a split shift actually. Once, a diner looked at me and said in a heavy French accent, “What *is* your problem?” I didn’t know the menu. I didn’t know how anything was made and let slip that all the chefs spoke Spanish so I couldn’t even ask them.
One day Mario offered to drive me home to the apartment across from a graveyard where I shared a one bedroom with two other girls (we were girls still, nineteen or twenty). When the car came to a light, Mario leaned over to kiss me and I plastered myself against the door and considered leaping into traffic.
“Oh you are so shy,” he said (sounding a lot like Pepe Le Pew), “but some day we will make love together.” Fortunately for me the harassment came to an end when the police came to arrest him in the middle of a lunch rush.
Months later, when I went back to visit some friends who were still working there, the new manager asked if I wanted a job. I told him I’d already worked there. “What happened?” he asked. “Didn’t you sleep with Mario?”
Oh my god, Tamara. That fucking sucks. I can perfectly hear the accent of "but some day we will make love together" and it's killing me. Glad to hear Mario got his due.
There's so many bad experiences. Here's some top contenders.
1) The time my manager at Outback Steakhouse held a meeting where he told all the female servers to please wear makeup.
2) When I was forced to work the smoking section at Bob Evans bc I was 16, and it was my first job, so I didn't deserve non-smoking yet.
3) The time I was forced to sing any Jimmy Buffett song that came on the speakers while working at his restaurant, Cheeseburger in Paradise. (And yes, I still know the lyrics to that hit ☹️).
4) When Joe's Crab Shack made all the servers stop everything they were doing on a busy shift in order to sing and dance to "Saturday Night Fever" and "Car Wash" and some other classic hits. (And yes, I still remember the dance moves ☹️.
5) The countless times I created culinary delights in order to get through 8+ hour shifts without a meal break. (Saltines dipped in tartar sauce; drink garnishes; a pile of shredded cheese mashed into a ball in my hand; cold Blooming Onion; etc.)
Honorable mentions:
1) Ass grabs
2) Polishing silverware at 1am on a Tuesday
3) Dying my jeans blue bc they were never dark enough and I couldn't afford more.
4) Flair
5) Working the entire restaurant by myself? Why.
6) A section with nothing but "two tops"
7) Having to choose which holiday you'd like off between Christmas, Christmas Eve, and Thanksgiving.
This has happened to me more than once. The server forgets I exist. They seat me at a table and either don't return to take an order or they take the order and don't bring the food. Times when I am with someone, I have had occasion where others at the table were served and my meal was not (once I got served and my brother didn't so it runs in the family). Once in awhile they forget to bring the bill (less frequent as a occurence). I am not saying this happens all the time but it happens often enough that I wonder if I have a cloak of invisibility (which I wish had it at times when I wasn't hungry). Now someone will say it is because the restaurant is busy. Not necessarily; it happens when there are very few people in the restaurant. I am sure someone will come up with a thousand good explanations for why this happens. Maybe the problem is that I am not a loud or aggressive person. I don't think I'm overly demanding, but when I go into a restaurant, I do expect to get food from it. That's a pretty modest expectation, I think.
I know women face sexual harassment and abuse on the regular in this industry, so it feels a little silly to tell this one, but I used to work at a counter-service pizza place, and honestly, I loved that job. However, one time a large group came in and everyone was ordering on different tabs and there were multiple orders of chicken wings going out to the group. I dropped a basket off on one side of the table and a man, looking pleasantly surprised, just started going to town on them—didn't even ask the group who's wings they were. A few minutes pass and the original wing-orderer comes up and asks where his wings are? I point to the other guy in the group and say "oh, I think he ate them." They both start arguing with me and want to see the order ticket. I've since thrown away the ticket, but they point to the trash and say, oh just look in there. So I'm rummaging through the trash, pulling out all these old order tickets, hating the world, and I finally find theirs. It's the very last one. I show it to them, proving I'm right. They both kind of sheepishly slump, and quietly order another basket of wings.
As much as it hurt my dignity to dig through trash, the look on their faces when they realized they were wrong was A+. And those wings were only $10.
As Nichole wrote, it’s hard to narrow it down to even one restaurant. There was a French place, though, in Westwood California, not far from fraternity row.
The manager was a guy named Mario and it should have made me think when he hired me without training and threw me into a busy service schedule, a split shift actually. Once, a diner looked at me and said in a heavy French accent, “What *is* your problem?” I didn’t know the menu. I didn’t know how anything was made and let slip that all the chefs spoke Spanish so I couldn’t even ask them.
One day Mario offered to drive me home to the apartment across from a graveyard where I shared a one bedroom with two other girls (we were girls still, nineteen or twenty). When the car came to a light, Mario leaned over to kiss me and I plastered myself against the door and considered leaping into traffic.
“Oh you are so shy,” he said (sounding a lot like Pepe Le Pew), “but some day we will make love together.” Fortunately for me the harassment came to an end when the police came to arrest him in the middle of a lunch rush.
Months later, when I went back to visit some friends who were still working there, the new manager asked if I wanted a job. I told him I’d already worked there. “What happened?” he asked. “Didn’t you sleep with Mario?”
Oh my god, Tamara. That fucking sucks. I can perfectly hear the accent of "but some day we will make love together" and it's killing me. Glad to hear Mario got his due.
To be clear, I didn’t call cops then either so it wasn’t me. He beat the charges.
https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1987-05-06-8702030824-story,amp.html
Ugh. That sucks.
So much of the air we breathed when I did that work. I mean, I know it’s happening to other servers now. Just a day in the life.
There's so many bad experiences. Here's some top contenders.
1) The time my manager at Outback Steakhouse held a meeting where he told all the female servers to please wear makeup.
2) When I was forced to work the smoking section at Bob Evans bc I was 16, and it was my first job, so I didn't deserve non-smoking yet.
3) The time I was forced to sing any Jimmy Buffett song that came on the speakers while working at his restaurant, Cheeseburger in Paradise. (And yes, I still know the lyrics to that hit ☹️).
4) When Joe's Crab Shack made all the servers stop everything they were doing on a busy shift in order to sing and dance to "Saturday Night Fever" and "Car Wash" and some other classic hits. (And yes, I still remember the dance moves ☹️.
5) The countless times I created culinary delights in order to get through 8+ hour shifts without a meal break. (Saltines dipped in tartar sauce; drink garnishes; a pile of shredded cheese mashed into a ball in my hand; cold Blooming Onion; etc.)
Honorable mentions:
1) Ass grabs
2) Polishing silverware at 1am on a Tuesday
3) Dying my jeans blue bc they were never dark enough and I couldn't afford more.
4) Flair
5) Working the entire restaurant by myself? Why.
6) A section with nothing but "two tops"
7) Having to choose which holiday you'd like off between Christmas, Christmas Eve, and Thanksgiving.
8) We need food runners
9) We need birthday singers
10) Any chance you could come in tonight?
Holy shit, Nichole, I'm like cry-laughing at how awful these are. I'm sorry. Although, ball of cheese as a snack = kinda might be into that.
The moment that I realized there was an excellent chance I was the worst busboy ever. Self-knowledge is overrated.
This has happened to me more than once. The server forgets I exist. They seat me at a table and either don't return to take an order or they take the order and don't bring the food. Times when I am with someone, I have had occasion where others at the table were served and my meal was not (once I got served and my brother didn't so it runs in the family). Once in awhile they forget to bring the bill (less frequent as a occurence). I am not saying this happens all the time but it happens often enough that I wonder if I have a cloak of invisibility (which I wish had it at times when I wasn't hungry). Now someone will say it is because the restaurant is busy. Not necessarily; it happens when there are very few people in the restaurant. I am sure someone will come up with a thousand good explanations for why this happens. Maybe the problem is that I am not a loud or aggressive person. I don't think I'm overly demanding, but when I go into a restaurant, I do expect to get food from it. That's a pretty modest expectation, I think.