Know what I don’t like? When a person at a table asks me my name. I am there to serve you food, not become your next best friend. I don’t care to know your name and I don’t care for you to know mine. What always makes it worse is that those that want to know my name use it every chance they get. Thanks Ben. Could I have some more water Ben? Oh, Ben, did you remember to bring me my side of plain white vinegar? They seem to go out of their way to address me by name every chance they get. And the worst part? They’re usually lousy tippers.
But you know what I really hate? When you call me Big Ben. The balding middle aged man (who was obsessed with everything Greek as in the Greek do it this way, or, I don’t know this food because it’s so different from Greek) at table 12 kept calling me Big Ben at every opportunity. Sometimes you get bad service at a restaurant. Sometimes your server gets bad tables. And yeah, he gave me a shitty tip. I grimace every time I go up to the table, make extra trips for your extra needs, and get shafted on the tip. Thank god this isn’t a career choice.