Serving Under the Spotlight Jamie Turner Copyright 2011 Jamie Turner Smashwords Edition Serving Under the Spotlight It was the first Friday of the month, night out with the girls. A ritual get-together that we had been doing for years. We would meet, have some drinks and enjoy a meal. Tonight we decided on the new bistro that had just opened downtown. Everyone arrived and we were seated. Some of us were chatting, some looking around at the décor, when she came. “And heeere we go,” my friend Irene hummed. “What? I asked, feigning innocence. “Hi, my name is Marcie. I’ll be your server for the evening.” And our night out officially began… Okay, I admit it. Some people review books, some movies. I review wait staff. Not professionally. Not like I have a column or anything. I’m just, a stickler for good service. I feel waiting tables is… an art form and that it should be done in a certain fashion. I mean am I wrong? Is there not technique to being a good server? We placed our drink orders. I asked for a vodka and soda. My orders are usually easy, fairly simple. I don’t try and make it hard on my server. I don’t test them and make their lives difficult. I don’t ask the year of my cheddar, if my chicken is grain fed or if my red wine has been stored in a cellar at exactly 55 degrees Fahrenheit. Why, that would be ridiculous. I’m here to have fun for heaven’s sake. Our waitress retreated and came back shortly with the drinks. Each drink is correct. Check. I don’t literally check like in a box or anything. I don’t have paper. I’m not marking them. That would be absurd. I’m here for a good time, night out with my girls! Shortly my friend Erica wanted another drink. Okay, where was the waitress? In the vicinity? She hadn’t been around much, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. No one wanted a nuisance server, asking you every five minutes how everything was, practically joining you at your table. But nor did you want a server who was M.I.A, where you had to hail down another server to ask the whereabouts of your server and had to answer so many questions you might as well have been identifying them in a police line up. Oh god, uhhh what colour was her hair? Piercings??? Ummm did she have a tiger tattoo on her left arm?? Our waitress must have seen that we were looking for her cause she appeared and asked if we needed anything. She brought Erica her drink, apologized that she forgot a cocktail serviette and returned with one. Good catch. Most wouldn’t have bothered. Am I being too demanding of this vocation? I don’t think so. A server can make or break the mood of your evening, right? Their level of performance can help set a certain feel, add to the atmosphere of the restaurant, right? I’m sure most patrons would agree. It was time to order dinner. My friends went first. They always saved me for last. I don’t know why. Excellent choice she told everyone after they placed their order. (Okay, really, can everyone be making an excellent choice?) Then it was my turn. Is the beef tenderloin good? I asked. It’s excellent, she replied. Does it come with gravy? Yes. Horseradish? If you like. Can I have mashed instead of baked? Certainly. Have my salad dressing on the side? Of course. Substitute my veg? With any vegetable we have. I would like a glass of wine brought at the exact same time as my meal, be a problem? Domestic or imported, she asked with a grin. A little cheeky of her I thought. The food came in good time. It was hot, each order was correct; none of it touched our laps. The plates were cleared as we finished. “You sound disappointed,” Brenda commented when I agreed the service was good. “No, no of course not. I’m impressed. She’s good at her job.” “Uh huh,” my friend said skeptically. “Do we want dessert?” Erica asked. “Yes, dessert” I said. “Of course we want dessert.” “Well, let’s ask the waitress for the dessert menu then.” “No, no.” I said. “Why make her do two trips? Let’s just ask what she recommends. Surely she’s familiar with the dessert menu, right? Surely she will be able to just make a proper suggestion, won’t she?”