The Restaurant Manifesto

New Year’s Eve is one of the most painful nights of the year to work in restaurants. Behind the scenes, everyone’s normal routine is turned upside down. In addition to our normal chores like folding napkins and polishing silverware, we have to blow up balloons, lay out party favors and hang streamers. To make things worse, NYE is always one of the latest nights of the year for cooks and waitstaff; customers have paid a lot of money and just don’t want to leave. And when they finally do, guess who gets to clean up the frat-house-like mess the partygoers leave behind? At more clubby establishments, it’s almost guaranteed that someone will throw up in the sink. Sure you can make a lot of money, but you’re also expected to manufacture fun for people who were too lazy to plan it themselves and whose expectations are often unrealistic.

Restaurants have made a cottage industry hosting people’s NYE celebrations, and they’ve learned a lot of tricks on how to take your money. The people serving you will try not to make it too obvious that they how little they really care while they’re picking your pockets.

Most restaurants offer two seatings. The early seating is discounted slightly since you’ll be expected to vacate your table before the countdown. Even though you were warned in advance, this can often result in your feeling rushed. Guests pay a premium for the second seating which may include a ”complimentary” champagne toast at midnight. Some will feature a band, DJ or dancing. Prix fixes are usually well over $100 a head and guests will be expected to guarantee the reservation with a credit card.

Restaurants feel increasing pressure to squeeze every drop of revenue out of New Year’s Eve because January and February can be painfully quiet months. Ever notice how many places permanently close in the first week of January? They always wait to squeeze out every last drop of the holiday revenue before they call it quits for good.

So, why does spending New Year’s Eve in a restaurant suck so badly? Here are five good reasons you should just STAY HOME:

Undue Stress – Going out to a restaurant on New Year’s Eve is a whole production for some people—dressing up, worrying about your outfit, getting stuck in horrible traffic, running late, meeting up with that other couple that you really don’t like who always cheats you when you split the bill. The pressure of making the experience memorable weighs everything down. For all the money you spent, it never really lives up to the hype. Speaking of which…

Surge Pricing – Restaurant real estate is already valuable in popular establishments and New Year’s Eve is a golden opportunity to gouge you. Most places don’t charge what they should, they charge what they can. They’ll advertise a “champagne toast” then pour you some crappy Prosecco. Menus are usually filled with all kinds of upsells and supplements. Add foie gras, a raw seafood tower or white truffles? C’mon, it’s New Year’s Eve! The sommelier will provide a wine pairing from the reserve selection for an additional $100 per person. The goal is to extract as much money as possible from people who are in a festive mood. A few more glasses of that cheap Prosecco and you won’t know the difference.

Apathetic Staff – The people serving you may look like they care but they’d much rather be celebrating with loved ones. The truth is: most of the staff is also probably drunk by 9pm. New Year’s Eve can be a lucrative money night for tipped employees but the staff is usually depressed that they don’t get to participate in the party. Occasionally, you’ll look over and see the bartender making out with his/her girlfriend/boyfriend at the other side of the bar while you’ve been waiting twenty minutes for your drink. Happy New Year, sucker!

Mediocre Food – New Year’s Eve Menus are usually very basic, stripped-down versions of the actual day-to-day menu. They’ll usually include a few token luxury items like caviar, lobster or Filet Mignon to bait interest and make you feel like you’re getting something special. Otherwise, it’s usually a pretty basic package of cookie-cutter dishes designed for speed, efficiency and scale. Restaurant kitchens function like factories when the menu is fixed, cranking out product with less attention to detail.

Too Many Drunks – Restaurant visits can always be compromised by loud, obnoxious people encroaching into your space. On New Year’s Eve, it’s almost inevitable. If you get drunk enough, you’ll fit right in. But if you’re looking for a more quiet intimate experience with someone special, the environment can become toxic at any moment. It’s a risk you always take when you choose to celebrate something in public. Only this time, it’s costing you a lot more.

For those of us who depend on tipping for income when someone chooses to leave us no tip or a substandard one, we take it very seriously. We’ll stew about it for days, sometimes months or even years later, but we rarely confront the perpetrator. Taking a vow of silence is part of an unwritten code in the hospitality industry—among the Ten Commandments of waiting tables if there were such a thing: Waiters Shall Not Question Bad Tips.

Right or wrong, you’re always taught to accept what you’re given with the humility of a clergyman even if—as is often the case when gratuities are involved—the amount left to you isn’t commensurate with the level of service you think you delivered. It usually isn’t, so you learn not to take it personally. The law of averages is on your side. Bad tips are usually offset by the generosity of others.

But if you value your restaurant job, you have to control your emotions about the tips you receive. Vengeance is impossible when you wear an apron. As much as you think you’ll revel in calling someone out for their crimes against humanity, it’s a war you can never win. People are always gonna be dicks. Sometimes the dicks sit in your section.

But are there ever situations that arise where it’s acceptable for a server to question a tip? A recent experience pushed me to the brink and—against industry mores and, perhaps, my better judgment—I finally did it. I confronted a guest for not tipping. No matter what hospitality purists might say—my sincerest apologies to Danny Meyer—I think I did the right thing.

This particular table, a group of four businessmen from different parts of the world, dined late and had a three course meal. I’d talked them through the menu, made recommendations and the sommelier served them a nice bottle of red. When they were ready to pay, I saw four different credit cards next to the check presenter and I offered to split the check evenly for them. But before I could retrieve their cards, one of the men stopped me.

“We need you to bring over a pretty girl to help us with our game of credit card roulette. Why don’t you bring over the blond hostess who greeted us on our way in?” We’re a mostly male staff, so I didn’t need them to point her out.

“I think you’re asking the wrong guy,” I said half-jokingly, “I bring drinks and food, not pretty girls.” I really hoped that hearing me say this aloud would help them realize the absurdity of their request. It didn’t.

Unbeknownst to me, they had already sent someone else to summon the hostess. Understandably, she felt uncomfortable being put on display and politely refused. We don’t work in a gentleman’s club, after all, it’s a restaurant.

“I’m happy to split the check for you anyway you like,” I said with a friendly tone. But instead of letting it go, they continued to explain why their game would only be fun if it involves the attention of an attractive woman.

“Look—I understand what you’re asking but maybe I’m not making myself clear. I don’t broker bringing pretty women to people’s tables. That’s not what I do. If you need me to divide the bill for you on multiple credit cards, that’s not a problem.”

Eventually, they let it go and asked me to split the bill evenly four ways. One of the cards declined. It wasn’t easy to conceal the joy I felt returning it, but I did. The men got up quickly from the table. People who tip poorly don’t stick around to see the reaction. I retrieved the bill and their four signed credit card slips. Each quarter was charged for over $200, all four men left me nothing. Zero tip on all four cards.

In my head, I quickly ran through a list of potential grievances. I had given them informed guidance about the menu. The sommelier suggested a delicious bottle of wine that fit within their price parameters. Their water glasses were kept full and the table had been maintained well. I checked back with every course to make sure that they were enjoying everything. There were no known issues. I could only conclude that, at least in their minds, that my indifference to agenting female attention to add intrigue to their credit card game justified leaving no gratuity. It was too insulting not to call bullshit. So, at the risk of losing my job, I did.

I followed them out onto the street in my uniform.

“Sir, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable—were you disappointed with your service tonight?” I said to the ringleader.

“Well, yes,” he said, looking uncomfortably at his table-mates, “I guess we were.”

“I have to ask you—did you choose not to leave a gratuity because I didn’t bring a girl to your table for your credit card game?”

“Yes, actually we did,” he said proudly.

“I take a lot of pride in my work and, to be honest, I have to say on a personal level it’s very insulting that you think that part of my job is to bring women to your table to flirt with you. I don’t view that as part of my job or hers—I don’t think my employers do either—and neither should you.”

He puffed out his chest a little but I wasn’t looking for a fight. I wished them all a rote goodnight and turned back toward the restaurant.

Ok, maybe I wasn’t this articulate in real life but you get the idea. I said what I needed to say and I walked away seething. I’m still mad as I write this because I know how many people in our industry have no voice to stand up for themselves when diners behave this way. I wonder how often normal people with normal non-service jobs have to hold their tongues dealing with entitled customers.

Leaving a bad tip is an inherently cowardly act—like breaking up with someone via text message. This man seemed stung by my calling him out and maybe also a little ashamed and embarrassed that I undressed him. As much as I’d like to believe that my employers would stand by me if he contacted the restaurant to report the incident, there’s no guarantee they would take my side. The truth is for most restaurant owners and managers, my behavior in this situation would be considered beyond reproach.

So… should waiters have a right to speak out against bad tippers? To me, it’s a question of dignity. Many people in the industry would have you believe that walking away from such a confrontation is the more dignified response. You are only the waiter after all. It isn’t your business, both literally and figuratively. A staff who recklessly questions tips can injure the reputation of the restaurant. I respect this perspective but I don’t agree with it in isolated cases. There are plenty of scenarios, like this one, where guests take advantage of the fact that the people serving them don’t have a voice or a mechanism to fight back. The most sinister guests get pleasure in lording over us and if we don’t play the game they know they can hit us where it hurts—on the tip line. Restaurant mangers will tell their staff, “let us handle it,” but they usually do nothing to avoid offending a guest.

At the end of the day, though, it isn’t a game. It’s a job. One where people shouldn’t be allowed to receive service for two hours in a restaurant and then trump up flimsy reasons not to tip their servers. When you choose not to tip someone who serves you, you’re making a bold statement. No one should ever be allowed to do so without being prepared to justify the decision.