I know a lot of people out there work in restaurants and have worked in restaurants in the past. I know that because every time someone opens their mouth to complain about waitstaff you have to say something like, “Waiting tables is hard.”
We are aware. Waiting tables can be hard, but that’s why you get paid cash for doing a good job. And if you hate it so much, do something else.
That said, let’s talk about hostesses for a minute.
What is the point of a hostess? Ideally, I think that’s it’s someone to be there to say hi, grab you some menus, get you some crayons if you’ve made the horrible mistake of bringing a kid along who is going to eat a nine dollar grilled cheese, and then take you to a seat. That’s about it.
In reality, I think they interpret their jobs with these priorities:
-Wear tight black pants. This is a must. For some reason, this is the only profession wear you can wear something a ninja would find too revealing, and it’s acceptable.
-Spend a shitload of time staring at a little map of the restaurant that you write on with dry erase markers.
-Get made up nicer than you would to go to your grandfather’s funeral.
Okay, so there’s a little disconnect here.
Just about every hostess I’ve ever experienced has been shit. You walk in, and one of two things happens:
1. You get ignored while they talk to the other person or consult over their stupid restaurant map.
2. They ask hopefully, “Bar or dining room?” and pray to their whore gods that you will say “Bar” so that they don’t have to do ANY work of taking you across a room, esentially the same amount of work involved in putting an old magazine in the garbage.
Okay, I’m goddamn aware that I can seat myself at a bar. I know you’re seventeen and don’t really understand the ways of drinking other than downing a cup of blue juice from a red plastic cup, but if I EVER walk into a bar where someone else decides where I sit, I’ll do exactly what I do in a regular resturant: Be seated in the shittiest spot, let my eyes fill with tears, and blog angrily about it later. But honestly, I’ll be sure to seat myself at the goddamn bar.
So you’re doing about as much work as a sign. A sign has an amazing ability to ignore people and provide no real feedback.
So, you’re basically worthless. Here are some things you could consider to become less worthless:
1. When people ask to be seated in a booth, don’t groan. Seriously. People like goddamn booths. How surprising is this fact? Get the fuck over it. It’s not our fault that restaurants still haven’t learned to make their seating 90% booths, so don’t act like it’s a big deal if we want to sit in a fucking booth. It’s not like I’m at your house and asking to sit in the chair where you prefer to sit while you text and watch 27 Dresses and idly play with yourself without any real passion. Booths. Write it down.
2. Practice this in the mirror: “Hi, guys. How many today?” That’s it. Now, the real key to this exercise is making sure you’re looking at the person you’re talking to. Since you obviously enjoy looking at yourself quite a bit, doing this in the mirror ought to help you practice. Stop looking at the stupid goddamn floor map and actually look at the people. If I were “hosting” a party I wouldn’t spend the entire time reading a book and ignoring the people who came over. Actually, I would. But I’m an asshole and so are the people who come over. And I’m not getting paid.
3. Forget about rolling silverware into fucking rolls. Nobody cares about that shit. I don’t need silverware the moment I sit down. Just bring it out with the food. All I’m doing with a fork is carving swastikas into tabletops. Seriously, just forget that shit.
4. I know you’re angry about the fact that you’re working, getting little or nothing for tips, and absorbing a lot of anger from waitresses. But you know what? That’s not my problem. And you acting like it’s been a really long, tough day isn’t impressing anybody. Here’s a tip: The morning after pill is like 30 bucks, an abortion is like 400. Just get the morning after pill next time and then you won’t be trapped in this shit job.
5. Spend less time on your hair and more time growing a personality of some sort. I’ve heard far more complaints about bitchy hostesses than I have hostesses with bad hair.
6. Mints are free. Are the mints coming out of your pocket money? No? Alright, then stop hiding the basket of mints under the counter and protecting it like it’s your deep-seated hatred for your father.
7. When I ask how long the wait is, don’t tell me fifteen minutes. Because the wait is never fifteen minutes. It’s four or thirty. YOU’RE the one with the chart, how about you just say, “All the tables are full and the one that’s been seated the longest has been here X minutes.” I can make my own estimation/gamble from there. While we’re at it, get a goddamn pager that works across the street or get rid of them altogether. I don’t need a light-up vibrator to tel lme something that I could have heard from a human standing two feet away.