The Gospel According to the Irritated Restaurateur

“The Customer Is Always Right” and Other Myths That Should Be Tipped Out the Door

Among the liturgies of modern capitalism, few phrases ring with such unearned sanctity as “the customer is always right.” It’s a creed often invoked with the smugness of a televangelist promising salvation for three easy payments of $19.99, each conceit about as spiritually fulfilling as a frozen corn dog washed down with a lukewarm Big Gulp. For those condemned to labor in the stultifying purgatories of the service industry, this mantra is less a guiding principle than a cudgel - a justification for the petty tyrannies of the entitled, the oblivious, and the aggressively mediocre.

Much of the tension between customers and service workers stems from the naive fantasies customers entertain about how restaurants operate. Chief among these is the idea that the kitchen is an enchanted realm where meals materialize instantly, prepared by workers who are both clairvoyant and impervious to stress. The reality, of course, is a sweaty, chaotic war zone where cooks hurl pans and profanities in equal measure, while the dishwashers - those unsung heroes - wade through an unholy slurry of grease and regret, finding occasional respite from the doom of life by having a cigarette behind a dumpster.

Another cherished myth is that servers have control over literally everything, from the temperature of the dining room to the speed at which the Earth rotates. “Why is my steak taking so long?” demands the customer, oblivious to the fact that their well-done order is being subjected to the culinary equivalent of cremation. Or, “Can you do something about the lighting/music/ambient noise from the street?” Sure, let me just summon my inner Zeus and rearrange the cosmos for your convenience, without regard for anyone else’s sensory experience.

The Pantheon of Perpetual Annoyance

Let us begin with the rogues’ gallery of unrepentantly difficult customers, those who believe that the world - and by extension, your humble establishment - exists solely to cater to their individual needs. Without doubt, restaurants worth their salt should be – and generally are – dedicated to providing their clientele with an experience that is as thoroughly positive as they can muster. But let’s be reasonable, shall we? If it’s nirvana you seek, you ought to know it won’t come cheap. Your everyday, run-of-the-mill restaurant, bar, coffee shop, et al is likely being run by some combination of inexperienced teens of varying enthusiasm (usually low), washed-out industry veterans on the precipice of retirement, over-committed college students juggling their conjoined needs for money and sleep, single parents teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown, yet-to-be discovered artists of whichever discipline moonlighting to pay for tattoos and rent (in that order), and ex-convicts. You should consider it a miracle from heaven if you’ve forked over $20 to your local Applebee’s and received something – anything - safely edible in return, never mind your “special order.” Afford these yeoman-like establishments the considerable grace they are due and, if you walk away unsatisfied, count yourself fortunate to be walking and take your high expectations straight to the French Laundry where a month’s salary can feed you for a night – if you’re lucky enough to get a reservation.

And now, the usual suspects.

First, there is the Menu Modifier, who approaches the chef’s carefully curated creations as if they were Lego bricks, to be reassembled according to whim. This creature has been irretrievably corrupted by the late 20^th century aphorism, “have it your way” – a perfectly fine philosophy for their royal highnesses at Burger King but a less-than-practical approach for more complex operations. Menus are organized carefully, ingredients are purchased to execute the menu’s constituent dishes, cooks diligently prepare those ingredients and arrange them into a mise-en-place to expedite the final cooking process. Each link in the chain is intentional and guided by principles of efficiency and avoidance of waste – both of product and labor – to deliver a high-quality, artfully composed dish to a waiting, appreciative customer. Modifications are a cruel mockery of that entire, thoughtful process. Your needy, self-centered, special request is akin to double-dipping your crudité at the buffet table: you’ve ruined it for everyone but yourself. Consider the extra steps that have to be taken – in an environment where time is precious – to abide your exceptionalism:

1.) A server has to note your request.

2.) Depending on the system in place, that server will either have to communicate that request directly to the kitchen, to the expo, or to a manager to clarify.

3.) The kitchen now has to ignore all their training and muscle memory to ensure that your precious cargo is prepared accordingly.

4.) Expo has to double-check your anomalous dish for accuracy.

Your special request drastically increases the probability of mistakes in the preparation of your own and other guests’ food, as well as lapses in timing and service. All because you couldn’t suffer olives in your puttanesca. So grow up, order from the menu, and if you don’t like it, well, there’s always dessert. Or, if all else fails, you can stop and grab a Whopper at the drive-thru on your way home…hold the onions.

Next, meet the Decision Paralytic, a distant cousin of Hamlet who believes every entrée must be deliberated over as if it were a question loaded with dire implications for the entire universe. “Should I get the steak or the salmon? What do you think?” They ask as if you, a server juggling four other tables, moonlight as a psychic or a moral philosopher. It might be even worse for bartenders, who must mask their furious impatience whenever someone asks, “What do YOU drink?” If you’re asking the question, it’s highly probable you’re not going to like the answer. Consider a menu as your user’s manual. You’ve been handed a document with all the information you need to make an informed decision about how to proceed. Now, if you’re feeling adventurous and your spidey-senses tell you that your server or bartender is in the mood to curate, then by all means indulge the spirit and submit yourself to providence. You just might find a bit of exhilarating liberation by letting someone else make bad decisions as your proxy. In the end, it’s not your fault.

Then there is the Unconscious Tipper, a breed that seems to believe the service industry is a charity organization where labor is compensated by the vague promise of goodwill. To them, the act of tipping - this ancient, near-sacred exchange - requires either a calculator or a séance. Let’s be honest – tipping is a broken system that leaves a lot open to interpretation. But it’s the only system we’ve got in lieu of paying service industry workers an actual, honest-to-goodness living wage - a move that would rocket already high restaurant prices into the stratosphere, and most restaurants out of business. In many states it’s legal to pay tipped employees a bare fraction of the minimum wage to reflect the income they make from gratuities. And in states where the minimum wage is higher ($16.66 in Washington State), business owners must carefully monitor labor costs and run skeleton crews in order to keep their heads above water. There is no happy medium. Your server is very probably either over-worked or underpaid, or both, and you’ve got them over a barrel. Loosen your purse strings and cough up a few extra ducats, percentages be damned. And if you can’t afford to tip, you can’t afford to be served.

Let us not forget the Table Campers, who linger for hours as if your restaurant were a library, nursing a single cup of coffee, occupying prime real estate, while you glare at their untouched check like a sworn enemy. Or the Owner’s Friends who drop names in the hopes of special treatment, never knowing that their “friend” the owner doesn’t know them from a hole in the wall. Or what about the Preeshers, who greasily ingratiate themselves by offering a fist-bump and a loathsome “appreciate you, bro,” in lieu of a tip?

We could go on indefinitely and would be hard-pressed to exhaust ourselves of archetypes. But let’s not linger too long in our peevishness. Moving on…

How to Be a Conscientious Customer

Fortunately, redemption is possible for even the most egregious diner. Here are a few commandments for those who wish to dine out without invoking the ire of their beleaguered hosts:

1. Tip Generously: A good rule of thumb: If you can afford to eat out, you can afford to tip. Servers rely on these gratuities to survive, thanks to the Dickensian wage structures of the industry.

2. Respect the Menu: Treat it not as a suggestion but as a binding social contract. If you have allergies or dietary restrictions, communicate them succinctly and early, rather than performing interpretive dance over the entrée descriptions.

3. Don’t Linger: A restaurant is not your personal office, study, or therapy session. If you’ve paid your bill and finished your meal, relinquish the table for those who are waiting.

4. Exercise Patience: If your server is not immediately at your beck and call, it’s likely because they are juggling a Sisyphean workload. A little empathy goes a long way. If you came out to eat with a time limit, that was your mistake. Don’t blame a variable-filled environment for your bad time management.

5. Acknowledge Humanity: Remember, your server is a person with hopes, dreams, fears, and bills to pay - not a sentient appetizer platter. A “please” and “thank you” can work miracles, if you can find the time to peel your dead eyeballs away from your phone.

6. Tailor Your Expectations to Reality: If you’re ordering for takeout or delivery, try to keep thermodynamics in mind. Fried food is going to be soggy. Any item that requires a specific “doneness” is going to be overcooked. Just because a restaurant puts it on their takeout menu doesn’t mean they’ve discovered some miraculous alchemy that supersedes the laws of physics. You’re paying for convenience, not quality, because you’re either trapped, tired, out of time, or lazy. Dining in, at a restaurant, is the only way to achieve the true expression of that establishment’s vision. You’re obviously welcome to order out, but for all our sakes, keep your mouth shut unless it’s to express deep gratitude for the cold, soggy calories that have staved off starvation for at least another day.

7. If You Can’t Say Anything Nice, Don’t Say Anything At All: It used to be that food critics were required to prove some culinary bona fides before expressing their all-powerful opinions about a restaurant. Now anyone with a phone can spin the Norn-ish yarn of a restaurant’s fate with a few well-placed Yelps. Here’s the thing, if you’ve had a bad experience at a restaurant there’s a really simple way to express your opinion: don’t go there again. If you’ve had, say, 10 bad experiences at the same restaurant and decided you needed to air that out in the public square then have at it, for all anyone cares. We will have – at the very least – learned something about you.

Toward a Better Gospel

It is high time we relegate the mantra “the customer is always right” to the same dustbin of history as phrenology, disco and sundried tomato pesto. The truth is that the customer is often confused, entitled, or flat-out wrong - and that’s okay, provided they have the humility to recognize it. The service industry is not a battleground but a dance, a delicate interplay of mutual respect and cooperation. The next time you dine out, remember: the food will taste better, and the experience will be richer, if you approach it with gratitude rather than attitude.

And for the love of all that is holy, tip.