How to be a better restaurant patron

Have you heard the saying “A person who is nice to you but rude to a waiter is not a nice person”?

I find this generalization holds true, especially because in most cases, waitstaff are complete and utter strangers. Why anyone would leave a bad impression on a stranger is beyond my ken.

A few weeks ago, I was eating at a local restaurant with a friend. When the waitress came to take our order, he proceeded to describe—in excruciating detail—the cheeseburger he hoped to consume in the near future.

Our waitress wrote furiously to keep up and get every detail down—from the brown sugar glaze that the bacon ought to have, to the cheese, which was to be strictly USDA certified organic and made from the milk of a cow called Agnes.

When it was my turn to order I asked for “The Bricklayer,” medium rare. I knew, having read the menu, this was the name of their bacon cheeseburger.

When our orders arrived, I got exactly what I wanted. My friend got far less than his lofty expectations. On top of his disappointment, he also realized what I had ordered was what he really wanted.

He immediately complained that the waitress had not cut him off midway through his  order and suggested “The Bricklayer.”

My only reply was, “Why didn’t you just read the menu before you ordered?”

Despite the introduction of this sound logical wall in front of his train of thought,  he averred that the waitress was still at fault. He was surly with her the rest of the meal and afterwards left her a lousy tip.

My friend ought to have done his homework and not expected the waitress to be a mind reader. Dining out is a convenience and a luxury.

One cannot expect to get good results when he cannot spare the time to see what a restaurant is selling before placing his order. In any case, the lack of ideal accommodation is no cause for rudeness.

On the flip side, I worked a shift at a local coffee house last weekend. This shop also serves a daily lunch. The well-established paradigm is a different sandwich, soup, and salad are offered each day. On the day in question, the sandwich offering was a roast beef wrap.

A customer came up to the counter and proceeded to order turkey on rye with lettuce, mayo, and pickles.

I did not tell her that special orders upset us or that she could take her business down the road to Subway.

Instead, I politely informed her that we might be able to substitute the turkey, but we were selling wraps today and the available trimmings were listed on the menu card.

The customer stiffened visibly as if deeply offended. However, she glanced at the prominently displayed menu card, which she had missed before, and said “Ok, how about a turkey wrap with no tomatoes?”

Done deal, no false expectations, and she tipped fairly well. I’d call that satisfaction in the face of adversity.

The difference between the two cases is clear: being polite to a server will get you turkey when you don’t like roast beef. Despite the hiccup of not reading the menu, my ultimately-considerate customer got closer to what she wanted than my rude-to-the-end friend did. Food servers are human beings who are just trying to earn a wage. Kindness is repaid in specie.

If you’re going to blunder into a sushi bar, don’t be surprised when your 32 ounce porterhouse steak—that wasn’t on the menu—tastes a lot like a dozen Ahi tuna rolls smothered in A1 sauce.

Take it from Blanche Dubois—you can always depend on the kindness of strangers if you are kind in return.