Restaurant Issue 2025

 

Rest PoBoy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

 

Or

Rant

        “She’s up against the register, apron and a spatula, yesterday’s deliveries and tickets for the bachelors; she’s a moving violation from her conk down to her shoes”—Tom Waits

        Walking, strolling, stumbling, sashaying or parading into any temple of gustatory delights and confabulations, either at home or abroad, and being catered to by a member of the female sex is a distinctive experience; she who generally gets unnoticed, underappreciated, usually hit on, and/or, in the mature and best cases, adored and respected, the Goddess of the Grub. The female server, hithertofore known as a waitress, tray jockey, hash slinger, Dining Diva (or as Mr. Waits would say “an invitation to the blues”) is a person cut from different cloth, and the work of insuring your hunger is assuaged, not a simple task, requires a skill set like no other.  

        Whether it’s Danny’s All Star Joint or Chez Au Merde!; whether in a Waffle House or at The Ritz; slinging grilled cheese or Beef Wellington in traditional ‘black and white’ or Harvest Gold uniforms, a stint in the ‘chaos of kitchen to table for tips’ is a rite of passage for many women; seventy percent of servers are women and over two million women in the U.S. work the floors of our high and low brow eateries (Bureau of Labor Statistics). They also raise children, put up with husbands, lovers and landlords. They make sure that bills are paid and critters get flea drops. Debbie has 42 years under her apron and tray; she knows.

        They’ve been known to have a cocktail or two after breaking their backs to make sure that your burger is medium rare and I’ve seen more than a few raise hell in a pub or pool hall; many shop at Costco.

        I was raised in a restaurant family, my mother was a waitress and my father was a cook, my step father owned a small bar and grill on the outskirts of Greenwich Village in New York. My Aunt Katie and Uncle Jack worked the cruise lines. Aunt Dot was a philandress. Uncle Pauli was a bartender, Uncle Charlie a drunk. I grew up a conglomeration of them all.

        I learned early the disciplines of eating out, the rite of the table neatness and arrangement afterwards, the formality of the tipping procedure and the art of ‘sucking it up’ if things went awry at your table because as Mom said “you never know what they’re going through”. I was made aware that quarter tips in a coffee shop add up to dollars (sometimes many) at the end of the shift. I’ve witnessed the ultimate waitress insult when someone leaves a penny on the table instead of a gratuity. I’ve seen female servers chase customers into the street to throw their miserly tips back at them. Cursing like sailors is second nature to them.

        I’ve worked kitchens where the waitress’ smile is put on as they leave the food line into the dining area and is dropped upon their arrival back in, saying: “that jerk at table 21 says that his steak is not well done enough for him; PLUS, do we even have something called ‘Fifty-Seven Sauce’?”

        I’ve watched them take a crying baby from a mother’s arms so that she could have a moment to eat in peace; gush over new lovers; diffuse impending confrontations; have an extra pair of reading glasses for the elderly and some crayons for the young. I’ve watched the ballet that they’ve perfected working a station of six tables in a 7:30 rush. The word multitasking doesn’t come close to describing what they’re capable of. Awesome.

        Now, this is not about dissing their male counterparts and I will probably write an article about the waiters that I’ve seen and been; likewise, the bartender, Chef/cook and owner. I’ve been all those positions; this is about the women, and furthermore, come to think of it, female waitrons are also the best at training the uninitiated in the art and craft of the tray.

        “Don’t flirt, it can be misinterpreted and can lead to trouble. Pick out the person that looks like they’re the one paying  and make sure that, just like all others at the table, their experience is stellar (only theirs is more so). Make sure that the women and men at your table are treated equally. Don’t pander. Pay special attention to a table anxious about time, they need the most attention. Make eye contact when communicating; serve the women first.”

        “Change silverware if necessary; keep water glasses filled; don’t hover, but be aware of what’s going on; yes eavesdrop so you can anticipate needs; always try to exceed their expectations; a bad tip now will be made up by a good tip later, it all evens out; remember: it’s only dinner.”

        Okay, I’ll admit it, I personally prefer a female server to a male; whether in Birkenstock or high heels; ‘girls’ in or out; novice or seasoned pro, they get my vote. Sure, I’ve gotten some less than perfect service at times AND I’ve gotten some of my best from women; and no, I don’t expect better service from any gender identity food server, host or bartender over any other gender identity. It’s all the same to me; It’s literally a crap shoot who the person is that will satisfy my stomach and ease my stressed out blood sugar when I strut my stuff into a food palace of any and all statures. It just feels more like home when I hear that person say: “more coffee, Hon?”