I’m the Waiter, you know!

Learn how to be a waiter.

If someone is nice to you but rude to the waiter, they are not a nice person.

Save someone's face once and your influence with him rises. Save his face every time you can, and there is practically nothing he won't do for you.

By insisting on having your bottle pointing to the north when the cork is being drawn, and calling the waiter Max, you may induce an impression on your guests which hours of laboured boasting might be powerless to achieve. For this purpose, however, the guests must be chosen as carefully as the wine.

I asked him how he kept his temper when customers were unreasonable. </br> "Oh, that's all in the day's work," he said. "I know they don't mean it. It's not the gentlemen who are snappish, it's their empty stomachs...." </br>"It is not the gentlemen," he went on, "that break a waiter's heart; it's the kitchen. That's where our trouble is. It's cooks that ruin eating-houses. A cook who has a grudge against a head-waiter can cost his governor pounds and pounds a day. It's all in his hands; he can spoil things, or he can keep them back till the customers bang out in a fury.... Gentlemen who blame waiters for being slow don't remember that the food has got to be cooked and served up, and that the waiter doesn't do either. </br> "But there;" Mr. Duckie said, "an empty stomach can't remember everything. I often think this would be a better-tempered and happier world if we ate a little all the time instead of saving up our appetites for real meals. But speaking as a waiter, I can see it's best as it is."

I am very rude to *high status* people who are rude to waiters/waitresses. Usually twice as rude. Sometimes three times, just to make sure. You cannot believe how many pple on the "left" are rude to waiters, as they feel their "mission" insulates them from humans.

A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.

The alpha person at a gathering of "high status" persons is often, detectably, the waiter.

When you can't save yourself or your heart, it helps to be able to save face.”

For twenty years Mr. Sokoloff had been eating at the same restaurant on Second Avenue. On this night, as on every other, Mr. Sokoloff ordered chicken soup. The waiter set it down and started off. Mr. Sokoloff called, “Waiter!” “Yeah?” “Please taste this soup.” The waiter said, “Hanh? Twenty years you’ve been eating the chicken soup here, no? Have you ever had a bad plate — ” “Waiter,” Sokoloff said firmly, “taste the soup.” “Sokoloff, what’s the matter with you?” “Taste the soup!” “All right, all right,” the waiter said, grimacing. “I’ll taste — where’s the spoon?” “Aha!” cried Sokoloff.

Waiter: “Tea or coffee, gentlemen?” First customer: “I’ll have tea.” Second customer: “Me too — and be sure the glass is clean!” (WAITER EXITS, RETURNS) Waiter: “Two teas. Which one asked for the clean glass?

The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.

I don't trust someone who is nice to me but rude to the waiter, because they would treat me the same way if I were in that position.