I’m convinced the fastest way to build character (and a permanent twitch in your left eye) is to wait tables for a living. I did it for four solid years two casual pubs and one “nice” place where the wine list was longer than my lease. You learn a lot about people when you’re the one carrying their food, refilling their drinks, and smiling through whatever chaos they accidentally (or not so accidentally) create.
Most customers are genuinely great. They say thank you, they laugh at my terrible jokes, and they tip like human decency still exists. But then there are these little things completely innocent to the person doing them that make servers want to scream into the walk-in freezer the second the kitchen door swings shut.
These aren’t the obvious villains who yell or leave a 2 % tip on a hundred-dollar tab. These are the everyday moves that nice, normal people do without realizing the domino effect. I asked my old coworkers (yes, we still have a group chat that lights up like a Christmas tree every weekend) and compiled the ultimate list of 15.
1. Moving Tables and Chairs Around Like You’re Playing Real-Life Tetris
You walk in with six friends, spot two empty tables, and start dragging them together before anyone even says hello. Chairs screech, purses get dumped, and boom you’ve built your own private island. From the host stand it looks like a hostage situation with furniture. We have actual seating charts, server sections, and reservations that now have nowhere to go. That “empty” table you just claimed? Might be reserved, might be waiting for a busser, or might be the only four-top left for the couple who just walked in behind you.
Why This One Quietly Ruins Our Night
- One server suddenly has 18 people while another has zero.
- You’ve created a maze that makes carrying three hot soups impossible without third-degree burns.
- If someone trips over the chair you moved, the restaurant pays for it.
- Hosts now have to play 4D chess to fix the floor plan while smiling.
- We still have to pretend it’s totally fine and not completely chaotic.
2. Snapping Your Fingers, Whistling, or Doing the Empty-Glass Shake
The room is loud, I’m balancing four entrées and praying I don’t spill the Alfredo, and suddenly snap snap snap. Or the classic ice-rattle symphony. I’m not a dog. I see you. I’m literally on my way to you after I drop these plates that are burning my arm through the towel. A tiny wave or eye contact works 1000 % better and doesn’t make me fantasize about hiding in the freezer.
Polite Ways to Get My Attention Without Making Me Flinch
- Small, chill hand raise (like you’re in class but cooler).
- Quick “excuse me” when I’m nearby.
- Stand the menu up on the edge old-school signal that servers love.
- Just look at me and smile. We’re trained to notice.
- Accept that three minutes is not actually abandonment.
3. Letting Your Kids Run Wild Like the Restaurant Is a Soft-Play Zone
Kids are hilarious and welcome. Unsupervised kids doing laps around the server station while carrying steak knives they found? Less hilarious. I’ve nearly launched trays of sizzling plates because a toddler decided to play tag with my legs. And the aftermath floors that look like a snack explosion in a tornado is what I get to clean while the next party waits.
How to Keep Tiny Humans From Becoming Tiny Hazards
- Bring a small toy, coloring book, or the forbidden iPad.
- If they bolt, please be the one who chases them. I’m carrying hot soup.
- Stack plates and wipe the worst of the mess it’s pure gold.
- If it looks like a bomb went off, add a few extra dollars. We notice.
- Remember: hot plates + tiny escape artists = everyone’s nightmare.
4. Saying “We’re Ready to Order” Then Staring at the Menu Like It’s Written in Ancient Greek
I bounce over with my brightest smile: “Hey, are you ready?” Everyone nods. I wait. Someone flips the menu over. Someone else asks for the specials again. Someone is suddenly very busy on Instagram. Those five minutes feel like twenty when I have four other tables glaring and food dying under the heat lamp.
How to Actually Be Ready (Or Fake It Convincingly)
- Use the time between sitting and me greeting to narrow choices.
- If you need two more minutes, just say so. I’ll circle back happily.
- Jot the specials on your phone so we don’t repeat them four times.
- Put the phone away for thirty seconds. The world won’t end.
5. Walking in 8–12 Minutes Before the Kitchen Closes
The grill is cooling, fryers are half-drained, we’re all mentally in pajamas… and the door opens. A party of eight wants apps, steaks, and dessert. Closing time means the kitchen closes not “we’ll seat you until the exact second the clock strikes ten.” We’ll serve you with a smile, but we just added an hour to everyone’s night and have to re-clean everything we just cleaned.
Late-Night Moves That Make Us Adore You
- Check online many places stop seating 30–45 min before close.
- Order fast, skip the apps, go straight to mains.
- Have cards ready when food arrives.
- Tip 25–30 % minimum. You just extended twelve people’s shift.
6. Name-Dropping the Owner/Chef Like It’s a Magic Password
“Tell Chef Anthony that Mr. Thompson from the golf club is here he’ll take care of me.” Chef Anthony has worked here nine years and has zero idea who you are. The real regulars? They just smile, order the usual, and tip well. Announcing your VIP status in the first two minutes doesn’t get you special treatment it gets you an eye-roll so hard we see stars.
How to Become a Real Regular (Without the Performance)
- Show up often, be kind, remember names.
- Tip consistently well.
- Never make us relay messages to the kitchen during peak rush.
- Accept “no” with grace. That’s how legends are made.
7. Waiting Until the Check Is Printed to Announce the 10-Way Split
I slide the single check over, turn to leave, and “Oh actually can we split this eight different ways and she’s paying cash for just her cocktails?” Now I get to stand there reopening every single item while three other tables need water and the hostess is giving me the death stare. Tell me at the beginning. I’ll set up separate checks from the jump and we all stay sane.
The Easiest Ways to Split Without Causing a Scene
- Say it when you first sit down.
- Or at least before anyone orders.
- Use the QR code payment if the restaurant has it.
- Round up a dollar each if the math is weird. We love you for it.
8. Blocking the Exact Spot Where the Hot Plates Need to Land
I’m walking toward your table with three sizzling plates stacked up my left arm, the kind of load that makes my wrist ache just thinking about it now, and the only safe place to set anything down is completely occupied by your phone, your kid’s juice cup, your elbow, and half a purse that looks like it’s trying to escape. I end up hovering everything in mid-air like a terrified waiter-bird while you finish telling a story, praying I don’t dump lobster bisque on someone’s lap. It’s not about being dramatic; those plates are heavy, they’re hotter than you think, and one tiny slip means real burns or a floor covered in broken ceramic. All I need is ten inches of clear table. That’s it. Ten inches and we all go home with our skin intact.
Little Habits That Prevent a Kitchen Nightmare
- When you see a server coming with arms full, automatically scoot things toward the middle.
- Drop the phone in your lap for five seconds; the reel will still be there.
- Pull your chair in a bit so I’m not reaching over your head like I’m serving a drive-through.
- If I have to do the awkward plate-hover dance, I’m aging in dog years.
- A quick “sorry, let me move this” instantly makes you my favorite person of the night.
9. Ordering a Steak Rare and Then Acting Like the Kitchen Sent You Sushi
You studied the menu, you asked questions, you very confidently said “I’ll do the ribeye rare, please,” and I repeated it back because I’ve been burned before. Twenty-five minutes later a beautiful cool-red-center steak arrives, exactly what you asked for, and your face falls like someone just told you the Wi-Fi is down. “Uh… this is raw. Can you cook it more?” That’s not raw, my friend. That’s rare. The kitchen nailed it, a perfect $45 piece of beef just got sentenced to the microwave of shame, and now we’re all delayed while the line scrambles to refire something that was never wrong in the first place. If pink freaks you out, order medium or medium-well. We’re not mind readers.
The Five-Second Steak Guide So You Never Waste Good Beef Again
- Rare: cool red center, basically a fancy steak tartare with a sear.
- Medium-rare: warm red center; this is what most people actually mean when they say “rare.”
- Medium: warm pink center, no red, still juicy.
- Medium-well: thin pink line, getting firmer.
- Well-done: gray, dry, takes forever; we’ll still love you, but physics is physics.
10. Ordering That Same Steak Well-Done and Then Wondering Why Everyone Else Got Their Food First
Same table, different cousin: “Filet, well-done, please.” I smile, type it in, and quietly warn the kitchen because I know what’s coming. Thirty minutes later the salmon and chicken dishes are long gone and you’re tapping your fork like you’re sending Morse code: “Where’s my steak?” Turning a thick cut of meat into something with zero pink takes serious time; we’re not holding it hostage for fun. Rushing it means it comes out dry and sad anyway, and then you send it back, and we all cry a little inside. If you like it well-done, that’s totally fine; just know it’s going to be the last plate out, every single time.
Ways to Enjoy Well-Done Without the Impatience Meltdown
- Pick a thinner or smaller cut; filet cooks faster than a 16-ounce ribeye.
- Tell me right away so it goes on the grill with the first round of tickets.
- Order a salad or app first; something to nibble while your steak plays the long game.
- Accept the wait with grace; the kitchen is doing exactly what you asked.
11. Turning One Simple Request into Six Separate Trips
Your burger lands, you take a bite, “Can I get ketchup?” I jog away, grab ketchup, drop it off. Thirty seconds later: “Oh, and ranch?” I smile (through gritted teeth) and head back. Before I’m even out of earshot: “Actually hot sauce too?” Then, because the universe has a sense of humor, “Sorry, one more ranch.” By the end of the night my step counter thinks I ran a half-marathon, and every other table I have is wondering if I vanished into another dimension. Take five seconds when the plate arrives to think “What else will I definitely want?” and ask for all of it at once. I will literally love you forever.
The Art of the One-Trip Condiment Ask
- Glance at your food, picture the perfect bite, list everything that bite needs.
- “Could I get ketchup, ranch, and hot sauce when you get a chance?” is pure music.
- If you forget something, wait until I’m already heading your way again.
- Pro tip: snag a handful of packets from the host stand on the way in; you’ll be a hero.
12. Getting Genuinely Offended When Extra Everything Actually Costs Extra
You’ve turned your basic chicken sandwich into a $27 masterpiece: extra cheese, extra bacon, avocado on the side, another side of fries “just because,” and a little cup of that truffle aioli the menu clearly marks as $3. Then the bill comes and your eyes go wide like I personally robbed you. “Wait… there’s a charge for guac?” Yes, darling. Avocados do not grow on the magic money tree behind the dumpster. Neither does truffle anything. The menu price is for the base item; everything you piled on is real food that costs real money to buy, prep, and portion. Acting shocked (or worse, arguing about it) just makes everyone uncomfortable.
How to Avoid the Extra-Charge Drama
- Read the fine print: little asterisks and “additional charge” notes are there for a reason.
- If it’s not included, ask once: “Is there an upcharge for extra bacon?” We’ll tell you straight.
- Budget for your custom creation; if you’re adding $9 in extras, expect the bill to show it.
- Don’t make the server feel like they have to apologize for basic math.
13. Treating the Entire Restaurant’s Thermostat Like Your Personal Remote Control
You’re a little chilly so you wave me over: “Can you turn the air down?” Ten minutes later the table behind you is fanning themselves and asking me to turn it back up. Repeat all night. The dining room is set for roughly 120 bodies plus the heat pouring out of a 600-degree kitchen. I do not have a secret thermostat hidden in my apron, and even if I did, changing it for one table screws fifty others. I once had a guy ask me to “crack a window” in January. In Chicago.
Real Solutions That Don’t Involve Climate Warfare
- Bring a light sweater or scarf; restaurants are notoriously unpredictable.
- Ask the host for a table away from the vent when you arrive (we’ll move you if we can).
- Order something warm: tea, soup, or a hot toddy solves 90 % of “I’m cold” problems.
- Accept that someone, somewhere is always the wrong temperature. It’s the law of physics.
14. Interrupting Me While I’m Literally Mid-Order at Another Table
I’m standing at Table 5 writing down “no onions, gluten allergy, birthday sparklers” when a voice from Table 9 booms across the room: “EXCUSE ME! MORE WATER!” I’m not ignoring you on purpose; I’m trying not to accidentally poison someone. Thirty seconds of patience won’t kill you, but yelling over an allergy order might actually kill Table 5. I’ll be right there. Promise.
Civilized Ways to Get My Attention Without Causing a Scene
- Quick eye contact + tiny smile or one-finger hand raise.
- Place your empty glass at the edge of the table; we’re trained to spot that from across the room.
- Wait until I finish the sentence I’m on; I’m literally coming to you next.
- If it’s a real emergency (spill, choking, fire), wave both arms like you’re landing a plane. Otherwise, chill.
15. Camping at the Table for Two Extra Hours After You’ve Already Paid
You finished dessert forty-five minutes ago, the bill is signed, the mints are gone, but now you’re deep into a PowerPoint-level breakdown of your coworker’s wedding drama. Meanwhile there’s a line out the door and every minute you stay is a table I can’t flip and money I don’t make. Turnover is how servers pay rent. Lingering after close (or during a rush) is the fastest way to turn from “nice table” to “please leave so I can go home and cry.”
How to Wrap It Up Gracefully and Still Be Loved
- Once the check is settled, give yourself 15–20 more minutes max.
- If the host is hovering with new menus, that’s your polite eviction notice.
- Move to the bar or patio; we’ll happily keep serving you there and I might actually make more money.
- If you absolutely must stay, add another $10–15 to the tip; it softens the blow of the two tables I just lost.
