quenching the thirst of the holy elite

When I used to wait tables and tend bar at Le Glamour Hotel, we had more than our fair share of -shall we say- high society patrons. Many were well behaved and generous, thus making my work all the more worthwhile. However, it was the not-so-well-behaved of the financially elite who could ruin a night in no time flat.

Sometimes, serving several of these folks back-to-back could nearly send a poor waitron over the edge. The phrase "desparate times call for desparate measures" comes immediately to mind as I recall one especially condescending matron who came into the lounge with her well-heeled entourage late one busy holiday eve.

Whenever the symphony would let out, our lounge would go from empty to completely full in just over five minutes flat. And, since guests were not seated by a host, there was virtually no pacing involved in the filling of the tables - I would essentially be sat ten tables pretty much simultaneously. Unfortunately, those placing their derrieres in my section seemed to be completely oblivious of this fact. Worse still, nearly every single one of them would order a Spanish Coffee, which was one of the most time-consuming drinks to make. The trick for me, at this point, would be to get a few of my orders in to the bartender -pronto!- before the other servers' orders came in, so that at least a few of my tables would receive timely service. Nine times out of ten, though, this would backfire as I'd show up at my first-sat table just as their asses were hitting the leather of the chairs, eager to accommodate their beveragely wishes and they'd have a zillion questions to ask of me...or they'd hem and haw a bit, at which point I'd offer to come back so as not to rush them and they'd say "no, stay, we're ready to order!" with desparation in their voices as if they knew that if I left, it could easily be ten minutes before they saw me again. So I'd stay, only to be subjected to "hmmm, well, let me see....I think maybe....oh, tell me a little more about this chardonnay..."

Meanwhile, my section is suddenly full and I am beginning to feel eyes boring into the back of my head. I rattle off a "little more about the chardonnay" while I take a quick scan of the room and seek out patrons who are known to tip well while remaining on the low maintanence side - they are the ones who will see me first. Although, in all honesty, if it were to come down to a mediocre tipper who treats me well and does not attempt to monopolize my time at the expense of others and a good tipper who is rude and demanding, I'm most likely to visit the mediocre tipper first: good behavior trumps good tips, for the most part, in my book.

A couple of the hemmers/hawers ask me for ice water and I seize that opportunity to escape their table, telling them that I'm going to get their ice water while the others decide. I make a quick stop at a table of regulars on my way back to the kitchen - they have the same thing every time and are nice folks who tip well - their order will be the first one in. I then gather enough ice waters for all of the hemmers/hawers because, invariably, if I return to the table with exactly the number of ice waters equalling the number of those who requested them, the power of suggestion will unleash itself and everyone else will want one - I'm better off bringing water to someone who doesn't really want it and saving myself the trip, as time is still key here.

I try to squeeze in an order here, an order there, and gently let people know that I'll be right with them. Really, the best way to handle zero to full in no time flat is to take orders in at least two trips. I've seen neophyte servers start at one end of their section and just start taking orders and then put all the orders into the computer and then wait and wait and wait for all of their drinks to be made because every single one of their orders was submitted last, behind every other server. Then their drinks are all up at once and they panic because it's too much all at once. Poor Lambchop almost had a panic attack one time with just this scenario.

I get my section a little bit better paced and things are calming down. The first table served pays and leaves and I bus their table quickly in hopes of another turn there. I'm making my way through my section offering another round to those who qualify. Thankfully, not everyone drinks at the same rate. The hemmers/hawers can't simply order another round of drinks - they all need to ask a bunch of questions and keep me sequestered at their table until they're good and ready to let me go. I dutifully answer their questions and try to keep things moving in a forward direction. After all, I have hot drinks coming up for some of my lower maintenance tables and I wish to deliver them promptly. I escape with their order just in time.

As I'm delivering their second round, an elegantly dressed 40-something society woman at the hemmer/hawer table slurs to me that she'd asked me for an ice water. Ew boy, somebody hit the bar during intermission at the symphony! I look at the table where each guest has a sweating glass of ice water, most of them barely touched, sitting before them.

"This one is yours," I say, gesturing to the glass that, if it were a snake it would've hissed at her to lay off the sauce. She then looks at the glass, then at me. With an ultra-stern expression on her face (this was before the popularity that is Botox), she condescendingly instructs to me that this (she then points to the glass for emphasis) is not ice water.

Um, okay, it's not? I'm thinking somebody also forgot to take her medication tonight. Where on earth do I go with this one? I really don't want to argue with this woman, but she just told me that ice water is not ice water and clearly wants me to do something about it. Something is very wrong with this picture and it's my job to figure out how to fix it without pissing anyone off. And, unfortunately for me, alcoholic society matrons can be a little bit touchy in times such as these.

Society matron interprets my brief silence and rapid contemplating as complete and utter cluelessness. She picks up the glass in question, holds it up and, raising her slurred words a notch higher, says sternly, "Do you see any ice here???"

The funny thing is that there IS ice in the glass and it's even making a clinking sound as she shakes the glass at me! At least now I know what she wants so I say, "Okay, why don't I take that water and get you some more ice."

As I'm reaching for the glass, she yanks it away, splashing water on the table and continues to hold it with a death-grip.

"No, a fresh glass of ice water. I don't want this glass," she says of the receptacle she is refusing me.

"Sure, okay," the words from my mouth say, while the bubble over my head says, "crazy bitch."

I go back to the kitchen and pull out the rack that holds the clean water glasses. It's empty. Oh crap. I ask the bartender for a bucket glass, all the while thinking that this woman is the type who will flip if I bring her ice water if a different type of glass than before (which also happens to be different from everyone else's at the table). The bartender tells me to hang on and I notice that he has about a dozen or so tickets lined up, all coffee drinks and espressos. Crap, crap, crap. As I'm looking around and trying to think fast, I see the round tray of glassware from the table I'd just recently bussed. My blood still boiling over the humiliation of being yelled at in the middle of my section, I grab a dirty water glass off of the tray and fill it with ice and water. My heart's pounding fast because, even though I've been pushed to the boiling point before by a customer, I'd never done anything quite like this. In fact, such things had never even occurred to me. But I knew that if I didn't get back to Society Matron soon with a new glass of ice water, there'd be more humiliation in store for me and I didn't deserve that. Nor did I have time for it.

I found that once the glass was safely on her table and out of my hands, the pleased look on her face erased any bit of guilt I was feeling. She was happy now, damn it, and -in a way- that was what really mattered. I really wanted to have a cherry on my sundae, so I strolled by the table and asked Society Matron how this glass of ice water was working out for her.

"It's perrrrrfect," she slurred.