All I could remember is running. Beads of sweat dripping down my forehead as I go from table to table. Every small detail leaves my mind. I’m continuously checking back in with families to remind myself what they need. Table 13 needs refills, Table 21 needs a side of ranch, I need to put Table 11’s food order in, and get Table 41’s check.
     Everyone underestimates the work that server’s go through in order to make the customer’s meal unforgettable. The most difficult moments are with the most difficult tables.
     Out of the corner of my eye, I see the host seat me. An older man and woman. I already have 5 tables, and I instantly become more stressed.
     “Smile, good attitude, small talk. Smile, good attitude, small talk.” I repeat to myself.
After surveying my tables, I realize that most of them are eating or signing the check. I happily walk up to my table with a big smile.
     “Hey guys, how are y’all doing today?” I ask cheerfully.
     No response.
     “Okay, have you guys dined in with us before?” I ask once again, still trying to keep a smile.
     “Yes.” the old man responds.
     “Great! Welcome back, we’re glad to see you guys again. Can I get you started off with a Sweet Tea or a Diet Coke?” I offer.
     “Water for me. No ice, with 3 lemons. Make sure they’re not too big or too small.” He says, not looking up at me.
     “And for you, ma’am?”
     “Diet Coke, light ice.” The woman tells me, also not looking up.
     “Alright guys, I’ll bring those right out.”
I walk away and into the back, and grab their drinks.
     “Sweet Tea, no ice, normal lemons. Diet Coke, light ice.” I say to myself while I scoop ice.
I finish grabbing their drinks, and bring them out without spilling them (Whew!).
     “Here you go, guys. Can I get y’all started off with any Cheese Fries or Onion Rings?” I inquire.
     “No. We want to order.” The old man demands, once again speaking for his wife as well.
    “Okay sweet! What can I get for you guys?”
At this point, I try not to be offended. Maybe they’re just having a bad day, or they’re in a fight. But if you and your spouse are fighting, why would you go to a restaurant and take it out on your waitress?
     “I want the Tennessee Triple. I want sausage, sweet and dry ribs, and pulled chicken. But I want the sausage in small pieces, and I want all white chicken. If I see any dark pieces, I’ll send it back. For my sides, I want mashed potatoes and fries. I don’t want the adult friends, though. Kids fries. And I want cheese and chives on my mashed potatoes.” The old man closes his menu, and shoves it in my face.
     “Okay sir, I’ll make sure I get all of that. The cheese and chives on the mashed potatoes will be extra, is that okay?” I asked.
     The old man never answers me, but a breath of annoyance leaves his mouth. I’ll take that as a yes.
     “I’ll have the Idaho Pig,” the woman finally says. “I want it with chicken. All white meat, no dark meat. If I see any meat, I send it back. I want it loaded on the side, but with cheese and sour cream only.”
The disrespect is astounding. They don’t smile, they don’t say please or thank you, and they seem to not have any sense of kindness whatsoever.
     “Sure thing y’all! I’ll get that out to you guys in just a few minutes!” I inform them with a smile.
No response. Big surprise.
     I put in their order, and walk into the back where I wait for the food to come out. While I wait, I explain to my manager, Rob, why I’m so frustrated. He tells me the same thing he always does.
     “Smile, and let it go. Focus on their food and their experience.”
He says this all the time, so it doesn’t really help.
     After about 5 minutes, their food is out. The plates are super hot, so I rush to their table and set down the food.
     “Here you go, sir. Your Delta Double! And ma’am, here is your Idaho Pig.” I say quickly as they survey their food.
     “Anything else I can get for you guys?” I ask, silently praying they don’t need anything else so I can leave.
     “We need refills, more napkins, ketchup, and more silverware. This silverware has been sitting on the table to long.” The wife tells me.
     “No problem.” I feel the smile leaving my face.
I run to the back, grab everything they need, and drop it off at the table.
     “Just let me know if I can get you guys anything.” I offer.
I walk away from the table, and start to question myself. Am I doing anything wrong? I never enjoy serving a table if I feel as though they don’t like me. I grab my co worker Madi to help me test a theory.
     “Madi, hey, I need your help!” I whisper to her as we both walk in the back.
     “Yeah for sure, what’s up?” Madi smiles.
     “I’m pretty sure Table 31 hates me.” I laugh.
     “I’m assuming you want me to go to their table and talk them up to see if they treat me the same way?”
Madi has always been my go to person if I think a table doesn’t like me. All customers love Madi, so if my table doesn’t love her, they don’t hate me. Weird logic, but it works.
     “Will you, please? You’re the best, Mads.”
     “Sure thing, be right back.”
She takes the lead to the front, and I follow her slowly, making sure it doesn’t seem suspicious.
I watch as she makes her way to Table 31, and they do not seem amused that she’s there. Madi comes back after about 20 seconds, and gives me all the juicy details.
     “Yeah, it’s definitely not you.” Madi tells me with a small chuckle.
     “Well that’s good. Thanks for your help.”
The rest is history. They enjoyed their meal, but never told me thank you, or even gave me a small smile. Their total ended up being 50.67, because they got dessert and shared a glass of wine.
Usually, you’re supposed to tip 20%. 20% percent of their order would be a $10 tip. How much did I get?
Four dollars.
I try to never let a small tip phase me, or let it get it me down. However, this time was different.
I waited on them for almost 2 hours. Every time they needed something, I got it with a smile on my face. I know that the money doesn’t matter, and that I’m supposed to be focused on making the table’s meal my top priority. But when you get a crappy tip like this, it really stinks.

Now, I’m at home in my bed. My feet are killing me, but I’m happy that the shift is over. All I remember now is running back and forth between my tables, getting small necessities to make their meal the best it can be. All I could remember is running.