This is One Thing, a column with tips on how to live.
I live in Los Angeles—a city where, if you are in your 20s, don’t come from money, and are chasing a creative pursuit, you most likely work in a restaurant. Speaking from my experience as a server, this industry can be incredibly fulfilling. At its best, it can be quite gratifying to provide a space in which people can congregate with their loved ones and share a nourishing meal. But on a less romantic note, it can also be tiresome, stressful, and at times, degrading. Such moments—the sort that make you question your life choices—can be mitigated by minor communication adjustments on the customer’s end.
Ever attempt to get the attention of your visibly preoccupied server by way of snapping, hollering, or your own made-up sign language? If yes, I am here to offer you some gentle advice that will improve the lives of everyone involved in the eatery exchange. In non-restaurant cases—such as, say, breaking a hypnotic trance—it may be reasonable to snap at someone. Doing this to get a server’s attention, however, is not the way. In the restaurant world, it all truly boils down to recognizing that you are not your server’s only customer. They have other parties to tend to, orders to take, and requests to fulfill. Assuming that they are a skilled professional, rest assured they will return to your table to check in on you in due time, thus eliminating the need to snap as if you are hailing a taxi.
But let’s say you have an urgent need for extra garlic aioli, or your fourth Diet Coke refill, or your server seems to have truly forgotten you—what, then, is the preferred alternative? After consulting with fellow service industry friends, both past and present, a subtle cue emerged that I’ve gathered to be the least problematic, both on the giving and receiving end: a poised, feathered, graceful wave accompanied by a kind smile and direct eye contact—the kind of gesture you give a familiar face across the room at a party, with the unspoken understanding that a conversation isn’t quite warranted. Simple, I know—but you’d be surprised how seldom this is the chosen route.
This particular approach checks all the boxes: You’re making your server aware that you’re in dire dining straits, but you’re doing so in a way that reads as polite rather than condescending. To be a server is to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, and as a customer, one should strive to align with the former.
An interaction that will forever remain etched in my memory occurred during my first month at a new job: A customer—who, for the record, made about 18 modifications to his breakfast sandwich—rose to his feet upon receiving his plate, and yelled across the restaurant, “SOMETHING IS WRONG HERE.” There was lettuce on it—a minor oversight on my part, easily remedied, but evidently a capital crime to him.
See, either way, this gentleman’s sandwich would have been remade. However, had he opted for the graceful wave and kind smile, I wouldn’t have gone home and cried into my pillow after my shift that day. And herein lies the necessity and beauty of a gentler approach—it fosters a sense of mutual respect, gets the job done, and, above all, spares fragile twentysomethings like myself from spiraling into a sea of life-choice regret.