I suspect that waiters and waitresses have been given detailed instruction on behavior modification for diners. Diners like me, so eager to please, can be directed towards particular behavior through a simple set of phrases. It won’t work on everyone, but it works on me.
I went into a restaurant for dinner a couple of weeks ago. I sat down and the waitress came up to the table. “Good evening, she said. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
You will no doubt recognize this phrase. I don’t know if it’s included in the training, but it is spoken by every waiter or waitress I’ve encountered in the last twenty years They, of course, are eager to sell a drink, preferably something alcoholic, since that is where the restaurant makes money, and how they increase the size of the tips. I understand that.
“Give me a minute,” I said.
“No problem,” she said and walked away. “No problem” is an interesting response. It seems to mean that I have given her a little bit of trouble, but she can get over it. I really kind of hope I am no problem, since serving me is, in fact, the point of her job. Still, I couldn’t feel I had been a little bit of a problem, and, weenie that I am, I felt bad about that.
She eventually returned. Eventually. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Perfect,” she said.
I wouldn’t have looked on my response as “Perfect”, but maybe it was the exact answer she wanted, and therefore, perfect. At least to her. And I felt a little bit better about our new relationship. I realized she was going to let me know when I got the answer right.
“I’d like a bottle of wine.”
“Perfect,” she said, and smiled. “Let me recommend…” (And here she suggests a bottle that is, in fact, about the most expensive wine on the list.)
I am personally suspect of any twenty-two year old who professes to know something about expensive bottles of wine, but I didn’t want to judge. We were spending the night together and I wanted to get along. I hoped she would understand.
“I was thinking about this Malbec,” I said, pointing at the wine list. It was noticeably cheaper. Like $60 cheaper.
“No problem,” she said.
I looked at her – her face was neutral, but I could just kind of tell I had made a little bit of a mistake. I was letting her down.
She brought the wine. I tasted it. I approved.
“Perfect,” she said. “Ready to order?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Perfect,” she said. “Would you like the special?”
“Yes,” I said. It was pricey, but it sounded good. It would make up for the rotgut wine I ordered.
“Perfect,” she said. “With the sautéed mushrooms?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Perfect,” she said. “Do you want to start with an appetizer?”
“No thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” she said.
“But I’d like a salad,” I offered, knowing I’d let her down.
“Fine,” she said.
Well, here was a new word, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. She didn’t say it sarcastically, so I figured there was some honesty in the response. Maybe it really was fine. But it wasn’t a “Perfect”. I think it was somewhere between “No problem” and “Perfect”, indicating there was room for improvement, but she had hopes for me. I knew I could do better.
“Blue cheese crumbles?” she asked. They were another $2, but that seemed a small price to pay for her approval.
“Yes,” I said, hopefully.
“Perfect,” she said. She smiled at me as she took the menus, letting me know I was behaving. And then I blew it.
“Could I have a little more water?”
Why did I say that?
“No problem,” she said. “No problem at all.”
“Whenever you get a chance,” I offered in apology.
“Perfect,” she said.
This pretty much set the stage for the rest of the meal. I found I could anticipate almost all of her desires, and was rewarded with a continuing flow of “Perfects”. It was like a little bell rang every time I answered correctly. We were developing a deep relationship. Pavlov had nothing on my waitress, as I tried to anticipate how she expected me to respond. I wanted those “Perfects”.
The meal was good, but not great. Especially for the price. But I had my priorities.
“How’s the meal?” she asked.
“Great,” I said.
“Perfect. Anything else you want right now?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
I made a mistake towards the end of the main course, when she asked the increasingly common and confusing question, “Are you still working on that?”
I was flummoxed a little because I didn’t know I was working on anything. I was under the mistaken impression I was having a nice dinner. It gave me this image of me attacking whatever I had on the plate with a crosscut saw and power drill. I would think that she wanted me to be “still enjoying that”, or “still eating”. I hadn’t looked on eating as work, although I did feel my attempts to please her bordered on a vocation.
“Almost finished,” I said, showing I was really trying.
“No problem.”
I knew I was a problem. I finished as quickly as I could. I cleaned my plate. I stacked them, too.
“Room for dessert?” she asked.
I could see now this relationship wasn’t going to work. The spirit willing, the flesh stuffed.
“I think I’m too full,” I confessed.
“No problem,” she said. “Just the check?”
“Perfect,” I said.
It was inadvertent. I wasn’t thinking. The word was running through my mind, and it just slipped out.
She stopped in her tracks and looked at me. I had crossed a line in my behavior and I knew it.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I apologized.
“No problem,” she answered.
“Perfect,” I countered.
“No problem at all.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Perfect.”
“Perfect.”
“No problem.”
“No problem.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I knew I could still salvage what was left of the evening. When the bill came, I left a little over twenty percent. A generous tip, but we had an understanding. I wanted her to know I cared. She picked up the tab and glanced at it.
“Perfect,” she said. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Thanks for having me,” I said, hoping to please her one more time.
“Whatever,” she said.
Song, story and culture 