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Who Has the Power (Poppy Seeds of Doubt)
Butterflies. Your heart rate is up. This feeling is so invigorating. You just sent a dish back at a restaurant -- something that you never do. It just didn’t taste right, the server wasn’t particularly attentive, so you don’t feel bad for the inconvenience. You feel accomplished. You stood up for yourself, got your way, didn’t take crap. After all, they work for your tips; you have the power.
The food arrives. Steaming hot. Just the way you like it. The server sets it in front of you with a nod and smile. You think nothing of it at first. But upon taking the first moist bite, “Wait a second,” you think, “he hasn’t smiled the whole meal until now.” And as the sauce drips from the corner of your mouth, “Is that really sauce I’m tasting”
You wash it down with water and talk yourself through the anxiety. You and your girlfriends come here for lunch two, three times a week. They wouldn’t do that here, they love you. You always get to sit by your favorite window even when it’s busy. That’s only a minor nuisance; it disturbs the servers’ rotation and sections, but not irrevocably. They let you mix, match, and order things that aren’t on the menu. The waiter stands patiently while you figure it out even though he’s swamped. The chef is happy to accommodate even though he spent years perfecting his menu so not only will the food be good, but his kitchen can operate systematically while cranking out dozens of orders during a hectic lunch rush.
The server splits your check four ways every time even when you forget to tell them at the beginning. Although, it might be a pain to keep track of who ordered what, who’s paying cash, and which credit card belongs to which person, they’re happy to do it. You ladies shouldn’t be expected to determine on your own how much each one of you owes. And God forbid, imagine if you messed up and paid for a little more than what you ate. You’d be paying for of one of your best friend’s meals. What a nightmare!
And the servers refill your drink even when they just finished refreshing everyone else’s when you weren’t paying attention and it costs them an extra trip. Then it hits you, “this place freaking hates me.” You choke down the last bite and hope they went gentle with the loogies hocked in your tiger sauce.
Please don’t vomit. I’m just having fun. Let me put your mind at ease. In my five plus years in the restaurant business, I’ve never tampered with anyone’s food, and I’ve only heard of it happening maybe twice. I don’t think it happens much. The risk/reward ratio is not favorable. What’s the reward really? The customer will never know it happened so what’s the point? And imagine if he/she did find out. The risk is tremendous. The server will be fired in a second, lose the reference, have very few options of new work as the business is so incestuous, and possibly get sued or fined -- not to mention punched in the face.
I must side note this by stating I cannot speak for kitchen staff. I see very little and am told even less. But I can say that when they are forced to make something a second time, they are none too pleased. As for risk/reward ratios, few understand the concept; even less care. (just kidding, fellas)
However, we wait staff do not have to fool with anyone’s food because the mere potential to do so is satisfaction enough. The seeds of doubt that we can plant; the threat that constantly hangs over the customers’ heads creates all the leverage we need in this Cold War of sorts.
The best thing to do is finish your meal, swallow it, and forget it was ever in your mouth. And don’t be afraid to come back, but be pleasant; sit where the host puts you, order from the menu, split your own checks, and don’t run the server up and down the floor. This is the only way to calm that voice in your head. I told you it seldom happens, but you don’t be that one-in-a-thousand.
You never know, but the server does. And that knowledge is power.
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