Jennifer Plesko

I love going out to eat, but I also try not to do it too often. After all, I could eat a grilled cheese at home and wouldn’t even have to tip anyone. So when I do make the decision to eat out, I tend to have high expectations of service.

If a waiter is rude, or drunk, or makes an appearance once and never shows up again, I tip accordingly.

However, there are some cases where the service can be too “good.” Or maybe a better word would be “overwhelming.”

One of those cases happened at lunch today with my fellow coworkers. We went to a nice Italian restaurant across the street to celebrate our friend’s two year anniversary with the company. The waiter was friendly. He was cordial. He was prompt. He joked with us. All was right with the world.

Then, things started to get interesting. Our waiter started to get clingy. In mid conversation, he would pop up every couple of minutes and say “everything all right? everything good? need more water?” and we’d politely decline. Then a lady whose only job was to refill drinks would come in behind him alternately every two minutes and ask if we wanted more water. Then the waiter would come back again and the cycle would repeat. At one point he came up behind two of my friends and stuck his head in between them saying “everything good?” and scared the crap out of them. He was like a ninja waiter.

Next, the manager came over for what was the most awkward conversation ever. We didn’t notice him right away. He simply lingered next to our table. Then has finally said “How is everything? Is it wonderful?” We all nodded in agreement. “Yes, it was great.” “Good,” he said. And stood there. And stood there. And stood there. Our eyes darted across the table at each other wondering what this man expected from us. Then he said, “So your lunch was good?” We slowly nodded. “Alright then, hope you ladies have a good day.” Linger linger linger. Finally he slowly started to back away. We think he was hypnotized by Lisa’s cleavage.

As we began to finish, a new set of questions began. “Would you like a box? How about you? Boxes? Everyone? Yes?” He would return with one or two boxes and ask again just to make sure all box needs were fulfilled. He even wanted to box up Karen’s salad. And her soup. And my sad, half-eaten slice of pizza. Then the water lady returned.

When he finally got us our checks (after we convinced him that, yes, really, we didn’t want to box up the lemons in our water glass), he brought the checks back with 584 mints. We wanted to ask for a box for our mints, or a box for all our boxes, but we kept a leash on our snarkiness. We’re all about restraint.

I appreciate good service. Really I do. But I also appreciate being able to have a conversation with my lunch dates without being constantly interrupted. Ah well. At least it cured my writer’s block.