$$$$$$$$$$$, Part 1: Earning

Every time I go to work I try to make as much money as possible.  Generally, I can accomplish this by moving faster and adopting a more pleasant demeanor in front of guests (i.e. smiling, offering vacationary advice, and saying thank you for actions that are generally expected, like telling me what you want to eat), but my money-making means are more complicated than this and require a thorough analysis.  Those who earn wages or salaries accrue funds at a fixed rate, but a server’s earnings fluctuate with numerous variables.  Working for tips is risky, as the outcomes can waiver between uplifting one day and frustrating the next.  Strangers are responsible for your financial well-being.    

Diverse samplings of the local and faraway populations come into the restaurant, and every guest has his predetermined philosophy regarding the tip.  Sympathetic people automatically tip 20%, no matter the quality of service, because they either have waited tables in the past or they’ve heard horror stories from friends or they are merely following the social rituals established before us.  Some people like whole number deductions from their bank accounts, so they round a $21.46 check up to $25.00.  It’s a lesson in humility to realize a small portion of your income is predicated upon the easiest mathematical equation.  You’ve earned, let’s see, carry the one, wait, let me get out my phone...$3.54 not because that’s what your service is worth but because most people are too lazy for post-digestive addition. 

Without getting too politically incorrect, there is, of course, a giant pool of foreigners, everywhere from France to China, who may not be knowledgeable of American restaurant customs.  This is always a risk and should never be treated with surprise when it doesn’t work out in your favor.  I know, for example, if I hear a specific lilt to each word followed by a “Cheers, mate,” instead of a “Thank you” that I should properly lower my expectation gauge.  Anything over 10% is bonus in this situation.  I’ve argued several times (to all the wrong people) that trans-Atlantic flight safety videos should include lessons regarding proper tipping procedures.  Right after the part about Please No Smoking in the Toilets, there is space for an advertisement that in the United States of America those 10% European rules or optional-tipping policies do not fly.

Of course, there are no repercussions, as tipping technically is optional, but I can guarantee you that not many waiters are like, “Hooray, I just got a five-top of Italians.”  Not that they’re actually racist or disappointed for the opportunity for multi-cultural interaction, it’s just that everyone has bills to pay, and this frequent pattern of unawareness from certain pockets of the globe can be frustrating to the point wherein you become a restaurant-racist.

Even inside our very own country, we stereotype customers from other regions.  Everyone has a rival.  In Pennsylvania, we assumed West Virginians would ask for Mountain Dew and then stiff us.  The responses:  Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee are not often met with elation.  They are generally friendly and sweet-talking but the diner-type crowd may leave you 15% and try to make up for their financial lack in terms of endearment and genuine-sounding compliments.  I am equally suspicious of any snippety, pinky-up New Englander wearing Easter-egg yellow sweaters and sporting white, immaculately combed hair.  I know they’ll probably tip me 20%, not because they want to give me money, but because they’ll look bad to their country club cohorts if they don’t.  What I’m trying to say here is that tipping procedures often have little bearing on the server’s actual performance but instead are dictated by international and national geography.  Of course, there are no absolutes.  Even a rich New Yorker could stiff you, and the T-shirt-and-jean crowd from central Virginia could leave you a generous bonus.  Patterns emerge, nonetheless.

 

No matter where they’re from, guests walk in the door with tipping histories, but some people tip based on performance.  A sizeable fraction of your income is in your control, but generally in the sense that you can mess things up for yourself.  I cannot speak for others, but my strategy is to be fast and genuine. I only offer personal information if prompted.  I do not welcome anyone or read from a script.  I approach everyone with a neutral expression like I would if I were asking a stranger for directions.  I ask questions to get the most direct answers.  I do not waste time with small talk until I’ve taken the order.  Some people may interpret my directness and neutral expression for a displeased quality or lack of cheeriness, but I’ve found that if people are drinking and eating sooner than they expected they are willing to forgive any personality flaws in their waiter.  Most people can appreciate efficiency and will pay accordingly for promptness.

That is not to say there isn’t a time and place for flattery, placation, and personalization so long as it is heartfelt.  I try to use my normal conversational tone when I tell people about my past or give them practical tips about hiking trails or cool spots inside the national park.  People will actually give you money for being nice to them/being interested in their lives/helping them plan their vacations.

 

For example:  I waited on a man who attends the University of Maine and studies military history.  I asked him for advice on a white-water rafting trip I am planning in the Allagash Wilderness in the northern reaches of Maine (in the upper-knuckle region of the oven-mitt that is Maine).  He recounted his own weekend on the river, including financial details, and then he pressed me for advice on generally where to go in the United States.  When I told him my 40/50 progress in my visiting-every-state goal, he said, “No shit,” and left me twenty dollars in cash on a forty-dollar check and wrote CASH GIFT on the credit card slip.  This man was so full of jubilation that he emptied his wallet and made a donation for additional dialogue, almost like extra credit on my report card.  My interaction was genuine, so I don’t feel like I was swindling the man, who was dining with his wife and infant, and he seemed to want my lifestyle but was thrilled enough to live vicariously through me during our conversation and felt he should make some monetary gesture to show his appreciation. 

What the job boils down to is asking people what they want and transporting dishes of hot food to the table in a timely manner before the meal temperatures drop to less tasty conditions.  It is ridiculous to say that a person can make anywhere from $30 to $50 an hour by managing micro-details, like this person wanted soy milk for his coffee and that person wanted gluten-free bread and no ice in his lemonade but that woman wanted the aioli on the side and these sisters were just sharing the sandwich but could they, like, get an extra plate if that was possible?  The glory of the job is that you don’t have to be nice to people as long as your speed is inversely proportional to your pleasantness.  You can make money with your legs without having to spread them, and you get your exercise for the day. 

If you are unloading trucks for $15 an hour, you get paid the same amount of money no matter how quickly you move, so what’s your motivation?  A busy restaurant is hard-wired with incentives.  Every time I pick up a check with the tip scrawled on the receipt, the Pavlovian dog in me salivates, and my adrenaline surges.  I pick up the pace and chase the next tip hoping to recapture that high or to even top the last one.  I am prone to greed and will hustle for any opportunity to earn a lot of money in the shortest amount of time possible.  Most of a server’s earnings are crammed inside a two-hour window.  I can make one-hundred dollars in one forty-five-minute turn of my section, but the last two hours I could make a measly ten bucks as I finish my sidework and wipe down my empty tables.

 

There is a competitive nature to waiting tables, both between waiters and within each person.  Serving is one of the most capitalistic enterprises despite its ideal blueprints for a Communist organization.  Servers generally make more money than any employee, even the managers, but the server’s success is dependent upon dishwashers, cooks, expos, hosts, bussers.  A significant argument could be made that all income should be shared equally, but the disparity of earnings between positions is enormous. 

Even between servers along the weak-to-strong and unlucky-to-lucky spectrum, there is often disparity.  When there is a line out the door, I can guarantee more income if I move faster than my coworkers, but I also need to cooperate with my friends who are also my competitors (i.e. I do not impede their progress despite the selfish advantages unsportsmanlike conduct would provide).  Rather, I want my coworkers to profit nicely, but secretly everyone wants to make the most money of all.  Some servers think they’re the best or the fastest and, therefore, should take home the biggest paycheck.  Speed, however, is not the only skill that dictates profit.  Slower servers who are more personable can sometimes rack up more tips, and this revelation blows the minds of the speedsters, who are often like:  How did that person make more money than me? 

When you compare serving styles and the financial results, you have to scratch your head and wonder if there is any sure-fire strategy that actually works.  In sports, there is often a literal quality to victory, namely, that the fittest will prevail.  When it comes to waiting tables, luck is often a significant factor, and I mean the kind of luck as in you don’t know who’s going to walk in the door and sit in your section.  You could get hungry people ordering lobsters or cheap couples sharing sandwiches and guzzling free ice water.  Considering all the elements that are out of your control (not to mention that sometimes the slower-moving, less professional servers can make more $ than you), you have to ask yourself:  Would you profit more by caring less? 

This makes me question the quantitative worth of effort. I once lost a credit card slip that may have padded my paycheck by an additional ten dollars.  The slip may have blown away into the bushes, or perhaps someone threw it away accidentally.  At what monetary point do you start looking through the trash can?  Ten dollars?  Twenty?  What’s the limit for you to stick your arms elbow-deep into the bin and sift through half-eaten sandwiches, wadded-up napkins that may contain snot, and melted butter that was definitely licked by someone? I’d get on my knees and spend the better part of an hour scouring the sticky floor for a misplaced fifty dollars.

What is a guest willing to pay a waiter to summon his beer and meatloaf sandwich?  These are all tasks the guest is quite capable of performing himself if he knew where everything was located.  I carried out a tray of three tea cups and six pop-overs.  I asked two questions:  How are you?  Have you decided on the menu? Then I walked approximately fifty meters and balanced a five-pound tray on my shoulder and set roughly fourteen small dishes on a table in front of the correct persons, all of whom I wished a pleasant conclusion to their day.  Would you say those movements of body and lips, if conducted in under twenty minutes, was worth roughly eight dollars?  Because that sounded about right to me.