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I've posted this story in my blog a couple times ...

Our first visit to the Frog Leg Inn was the result of a gift card someone had given us for our wedding in October of 2004. During that visit, service from our server, Sherry, was almost non-existant. Mary says that, since we were basically on our honeymoon, she really didn’t notice. But having worked in foodservice before, I noticed. However, Sherry had a good reason. I realized there was one woman at a nearby table who was, quite literally, demanding all of Sherry’s attention. And I mean, all of it! I felt sorry for Sherry for what she was having to tolerate. She’d get to us when the woman gave her a breather, but as soon as she’d do something for us, that woman would call her right back over.

We lodged no complaints. Mary hadn’t realized what was going on, and at a couple of instances I’d actually felt like defending Sherry against the woman at the next table.

The kicker came when Sherry delivered our bill. One little act of hers endeared the Frog Leg Inn to us forever.

What did she do? She brought us a piece of creme brulée in a to-go box, profusely apologizing for not giving us her best-possible service.

I hadn’t complained, Mary hadn’t complained, the food was excellent, we had been left alone which was fine for a honeymooning couple … but Sherry felt guilty anyway.

It was at that moment the Frog Leg Inn became our favorite restaurant in Monroe County, and one of our all-around faves of every restaurant we’ve been to, even across the country. Sure, it helps that we’re good friends with the gang there now. But it would still be our favorite even if those relationships hadn’t developed.

Servers put up with more than you could ever imagine. Unless you’ve been one you really have no idea how difficult that job is. Treat these folks right.

My husband and I are fans of the McCormick and Schmick's in Kansas City. We've been there quite a few times and always have really great service.

Our last service however, set a new standard. He had been charming, witty, and knowledgeable about the food and wine all evening. We were there with quite a fun group of people and we were relaxed, so I'm sure we were probably easy.

First thing that happened, was he brought us our appetizers and said they had taken too long, his apologies, and they were being comped. We hadn't even noticed that they were taking too long b/c we were too busy chatting and drinking, so there had been no complaints.

At the end of the meal, my sister-in-law was taking a long time finishing her last wine glass, so I decided to order a cocktail. I told the server that I wanted a dirty Grey Goose martini. When I have servers I like and who seem able to take a joke, I always tell them "dirty like a tramp." He was laughing as he walked away.

When he came back with my martini, he set it down in front of me and warned me to please be careful...he'd found her in front of the free STD clinic.

Needless to say, he got a VERY good tip from our table that night and I highly recommend Adam @ KCMO's M&S.

And my husband just informed me that his name was Chad, not Adam. Adam was another server we had recommended to us at the restaurant. Oops!

My husband I had a "fancy" dinner date, and each ordered a different pre-set menu. When the risotto came, I tasted wine and asked the waiter about it (we're teetotallers.) He asked the kitchen, and replaced the entree with a quick pasta dish. It was delicious, and he was very kind and courteous about it.

It's really the best when you have that perfect waiter who is not only well-trained and has a good amount of experience, but they really make you feel welcome, relaxed, and taken care of in your dining experience; when they make you feel like it is the most important thing to them for you the diner to enjoy your meal. Though I have gotten fantastic service from waiters at very nice restaurants, I think the best service I ever had was from a man named Jason at a restaurant in the East Village. He was honest about the menu, and when we asked him questions about his opinions on certain dishes, not only was he extremely knowledgeable about the ingredients, he was honest about the execution of the dishes. After helping us choose some great dishes, he kept bringing out complementary items for us such as appetizers and then after our meal, brought out some desserts for us to try! I felt like I had a connection with a really nice and capable waiter, and I couldn't have been happier! If only I had money, I would've tipped him more! But at least we took him out for a few drinks later in the night!

This was my second job as a waitress. They had just opened an upscale Italian restaurant. I having a new found passion for food and loving being a server, thought this job was IT! From the collared white button up shirt, tie of my choice and the long white creased down the center apron, lets just say I thought I was so cool. Also having acquired quite the attitude as I had observed by other waiters in all the fine restaurants I had been to. Oh and being 20 didn’t help.

Here is the story. The front end was running soothe. Everyone was happy, until the kitchen started backing up. People were waiting over an hour for their main coarse. I was doing all I could to remain calm and keep the guests happy. Compensating them within my means. Well I, by this time was getting a little frustrated to say the least. Finally the order for this one table was on it’s way out. This bitter old women said to me “I asked for angel hair, this is penne”. I thought to myself, seriously after waiting all that time I would have been a little snippy too, but did she really want to send it back? Who knows how long it might take to fix her order. And after all pasta is pasta right. Well without leaving it to my inner dialog I blurted out very matter of fact like “Pasta is Pasta!” And walked away. Really it is all the same ingredients. Not knowing I had picked a fight with the wrong women, and being too stupid fix the problem, which would have been so easy. I got fired that night. Fired for saying “pasta is pasta“.

Now being ten years older and wiser, still a server. My culinary skills have improved as well as my pallet. Pasta is not just pasta in any way, shape, or form. And get this, I hate penne pasta, and angel hair is my favorite.

This is not about the restaurant I work at but I've been working at the same restaurant for a long time but also have a part time job nearby. A supermarket where I work as a cashier. This happened at the supermarket, the eveningshift and closing hour. Stressing at the cashier I tried to finish all the customers and their purchase. Next in line was a lady, dressed in nice clothes and a hat. I was punching in the prices of her groceries when she wanted my attention. Holding up the bread she wanted to buy she asked me.
"This bread is due today, may I have this bread with 50% discount?" staring at me... I was really suprised since I've never got such a question before. I answered her that I change the price and that is what the !manager do and my job is to charge the price which is on the tag. She glared at me and said "But the bread is going bad after today, so this should not be any problem?" Kept saying no so she gave up after 15 minutes. I tired to hurry and finish hers but she seem to be buying for a whole army! Right then when it was just one thing left, a piece of cheese, she speaked up again really loud " This cheese I'll show you, it's already started to mold. So this cheese I should get for free, shouldn't I?!" I stared at the cheese, and it really was mold ( blue dots on the cheese ). By now I started to sweat and hesitating what to say, I was still new on the job and fresh. But I remember the manager saying that no matter what reason, I can't decide and replace any pricetag myself, so that is what I told the lady. She stared at me for a while and said " This cheese is molded! People can die eating this piece of cheese! No one would want it so why can't I have it for free??!" She ran out of the place after paying, almost hit me with the money...

Most of the time, "strange" things happens around closing time. I'll rant about those some other time, before I got this parttime job. I've heard from friends and experienced most funny situation and sweaty ones at restaurants. But supermarket and and other jobs where you serve customers or guests, things happens there too..... you just have to be prepared when it happens ;p

On my birthday a few years back, I was still in the throes of strep throat. Typically my family and I go out to dinner at a nice restaurant and have a great time, but everything I'd been eating for the last week not only tasted like mucus but felt like a knife going down. So I wasn't really enjoying it all very much, though my mother and brother teased me and gave me all of their mashed potatoes (which I appreciated in a morose sort of way). We hadn't seen much of our waitress, but she did come over promptly when we asked for the check.

"Will you be wanting any dessert tonight?"

My mother looks over at me and makes an inquiring face. I shake my head miserably and croak, "No, thank you though."

"Sore throat." My mother clarifies, squeezing my hand over the table.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll bring your check right over so you can get home and rest up."

We wait for the check and I lean against my mother's shoulder drowsily while she says consolatory things and smooths my hair. The next thing I feel is something cold and wet against my cheek, and I flinch and open my eyes, ready to snap at my brother for being a jerk.

Well--it is my brother--but he's holding a delicate little cocktail glass full of mint chocolate chip ice cream with a beautiful arrangement of mint leaves and thin, brittle cookies. The waitress has already left to tend to some demanding customers, but wrapped around the stem of the glass is a twist of paper that says, "Get well soon, sweetie! --Joanie."

It was really good ice cream, too. :)

AM worked at a number of restaurants here. If their standards weren't up to hers, I think she left. She was perfect: knew what you needed before you did and always left you happier than before you came iinto the restaurant. Our friends from Brasil were visiting, and it seemed as if she was working in every restaurant we went to over several weeks. Sandro responded to this pretty blonde by flirting outrageously. We were hugely embarrassed. AM handled it graciously, deftly - humoured him and minimized our discomfort. I was awestruck.

Some years ago, my husband and I went to Hamersley's Bistro in Boston to celebrate our anniversary. We had a delicious dinner, and our waitress was wonderful. We reminisced often about that perfect evening and decided to go back for our next anniversary. We noticed right away that we'd gotten the same waitress again -- but we were blown away when SHE remembered US! And the kicker was that she even remembered what wine we'd ordered the year before! WOW!

Prom, my senior year of high school, was incredibly memorable. But not for the usual reasons. I grew up in a suburb outside of Chicago. We looked for the fanciest restaurant in the city for a late dinner after the dance. We chose Spiaggia. We had a beautiful table near the window. The food was spectacular. The service was wonderful. We certainly weren't treated like the quartet of high school students that we were. The views were amazing. The table was about two feet away from the window, and there was an air vent between the table and window. The cover to the vent was about two feet below the actual floor. During dessert, I had crossed my legs and was kicking one of my feet. There was a loud clattering noise followed by a loud gasp from me. I had kicked my shoe into the air vent.

The maitre' d, bus boy, and waiter all came over to peer down at my shoe sitting on top of the vent. The waiter laid down on the floor, and reached down for my shoe. He got it, put it on a platter, and came around the table to present it to me. I was completely mortified. He had a huge smile the entire time. Minutes later, a lovely dessert that we had not ordered had appeared. "Compliments of the house" we were told, perhaps to make up for the embarrassment.

It was certainly a night and a server that I will never forget.

Lill the Waitress

Back in the 1970's my friend Lightning was a guitar player in a local rock band. One night, after he'd finished playing a dance job, we arranged to meet some girls we knew at the pizzeria which was a popular destination after the bars closed. He and I arrived somewhat late after helping to pack up the band equipment.

The restaurant's seating consisted of a row of booths along the wall opposite the entryway, several small tables in a row down the center of the dining room, and two larger round tables near the door, alongside the kitchen area, that usually weren't occupied unless when the place was really busy, as it was that night.

The girls we knew were eating a pizza at the round table nearest to the door. Lightning decided to order something to eat and I was just going to have coffee. At the other round table sat a couple of older, large rough looking characters who had obviously spent quite a few hours in the bars up the street. They were acting up, making the usual wise-guy remarks about long hair, funny clothing, suspected sexual orientation etc.

One of the girls had to work the next morning and asked me if she could get a ride home. She didn't live far away, and since I wasn't going to eat it posed no problem. While driving I mentioned how obnoxious the two guys at the other table had been. She told me that before I arrived they had been behaving even worse. After hearing her relate a few stories I became incensed. I dropped her off and sped back to the restaurant. I searched under my car seat for anything I could use as a weapon, but all I could come up with was pair of pliers, which I stuck in my pocket.

Back inside the other girls had finished eating and were getting ready to leave a bit earlier than they might have otherwise, no doubt due in part to the unpleasant atmosphere. The fact that this now deprived Lightning and I of any chance at some pleasurable female companionship later on didn't put me in any better mood.

While Lightning ate I had a cup of coffee and tried to ignore them. They were still trying to keep up what I'm sure they considered to be a line of witty banter. They even made rude comments to Lill, the matronly waitress. She was used to putting up with drunks on the night shift, and while she maintained her normal neutral disposition I could tell she was irritated by this particular pair. While she refilled my coffee cup I alluded to their antics and she gave me a knowing nod.

Just then one of their jackets fell off the back of the chair where it had been hanging and landed near my feet. I picked it off the floor with the toe of my boot and kicked it off to the side, making sure to leave a dirty footprint.

Now the drunks quit talking and just concentrated on glaring at us. Moments later Lill came back with our bill and, after glancing furtively around, she took a long sharply pointed metal spoon out of her apron and slipped it to me. I took out the money to cover our tab, and just as the two thugs at the next table got up to leave I handed the spoon under the table to Lightning and motioned with my head for him to follow me.

We elbowed our way between them as they went out the door, and once outside we leaned up against the front of the building. Our adversaries stood at the curb facing us. I'm an average sized guy, and I was young and in pretty good shape, but they were both larger than me, and from their outward appearance not unfamiliar with the physical resolution of conflicts. Unfortunately, Lightning was what you might politely describe as scrawny. In a fight he would doubtless prove to be a hinderance more than an asset, but under the circumstances he was all the help I could expect. While I made what I hoped were menacing sounds clicking the pliers he twirled the long pointed spoon that Lil the waitress had so kindly supplied us with between his fingers.

So there I was, leaning up against the front of the pizza joint, armed with a pair of pliers and reinforced by the physically unimposing Lightning twirling the pointed spoon that Lill had provided to us for use in an impending battle against two large drunken ruffians.

The best I could hope for was that either the police would be stopping by for coffee, (since the pizzeria owner's son was on the force), or that restaurant patrons who knew us would intervene before we were pummeled too badly.

Right then our fortunes took a strange turn for the better. Our adversaries turned around and set out across the street toward the town's Pool Hall. They may as well have walked right into my living room. In fact, if you only took waking hours into account, I spent far more time at the Pool Hall than I ever did at home in the living room.

My despair suddenly changed to boldness, I crossed the street with Lightning in tow. Zippy Zollar was on duty behind the counter in the Pool Hall, reading the paper. "I didn't see nobody", was his reply when asked where the strangers went, but just then I spotted them starting down the stairs to the basement.

Although I hadn't recognized them as being locals, they apparently were familiar enough with the town to know about the late night poker games in the Pool Hall basement. This was really turning out to be too good to be true.

We went downstairs and walked around to the opposite side of the card table from where our now-turned-potential-victims were standing. My friend Polar Bear was acting as House Man, and the card players at the time, Geno, Kocko, HJ, Toodles, Secundo, Johnson from Wisconsin, (whose name wasn't Johnson and he wasn't from Wisconsin), and the Spagnolo Brothers were all familiar to me. I leaned over and whispered in Geno's ear for him to look at the two guys standing across the table, whisper to Kocko on his right to do the same thing, and then pass the word around the table.

Before the message reached the first Spagnolo Brother the thugs were hightailing it up the stairs. By the time Lightning and I got around the table and back upstairs they were nowhere in sight. Zippy motioned up the street with a nod of his head, and when we got outside a car was already pulling away from the curb and quickly driving away.

We returned the spoon to Lil at the restaurant the next evening, and she got a good laugh out of hearing our story.

My husband and I were on our honeymoon at Disneyworld. I had made us reservations at some fancy-schmancy place on top of one of the hotels nearby, partly because it seemed romantic, partly because it had a good rep food-wise. For some reason, I decided we should cheap out and not take a taxi to the restaurant, figuring it was just across the street from Disney property and we could just walk. Oops. By the time we made it to the hotel, and then figured out how to get up to the restaurant, my hair was a mess and I had long since given up trying to walk in my four-inch heels and had runs in my hose all the up the leg--in short, when we finally presented ourselves to the maitre 'd I looked like something the cat dragged in. Given my obviously bedraggled state, and the fact that at that point I was just a budding foodie, I felt thoroughly intimidated and out of place--I almost made us turn around and leave. When our impeccably dressed, thoroughly proper waiter approached our table, I just wanted to sink into my chair and disappear, but he treated us like any of the other, obviously well-heeled, well-dressed clientele of the place. I know you could say he was just doing his job, but his kindness and helpfulness managed to salvage our evening--an evening which both my husband and I remember fondly as opening our eyes to a whole new world of food.

Josh at The Keg in Vancouver, BC.

We were in Vancouver in May for a half marathon and Josh was our dinner waiter. He was attentive, fun and friendly. He suggested a "Forbidden Fruit" martini ("Named after ME!" he told us) and gave great menu tips.

He left us a funny thank you note with our bill and, of course, we tipped him well.

We'd walked about two blocks from the restaurant when he came running up to us. My eyeshadow had fallen out of my purse, and as Josh said when he returned it, "Honey, Bobbi Brown's not cheap."

What a sweet waiter!

22 of us were looking for a place for dinner after college graduation, we decided to go to spaghetti factory, it was cheap and had lots of seating, better than denny's we called to see how late they were open and they said 11, it was about 10:30 already but they said come anyways....even with 22 people. well, we got there and they kept one waiter on and the manager stayed, as well as a cook and we had the best dinner ever, the waiter and manager were so attentive and seemed happy to have us. they didn't rush our meal and didn't hurry us out...we could not have asked for kinder, better service. and yes we tipped them well, even on college kid budget!

Cristina ... If you did, in fact, have Strep throat ...YOU ARE CONTAGIOUS AND SHOULD NOT BE AT A PLACE THAT SERVES THE PUBLIC FOOD!!!!
Making arrangements for a meal AFTER you are over this very, very contagious virus, would make lots more sense!!! The alleged adults should have known better!

My boyfriend and I are both in the industry; he's the wine purchaser of the restaurant as well as a server and bartender, I'm the office manager, MOD, a server and bartender.

A few weeks back, I came home from my Sunday brunch manager on duty shift feeling particularly bad. What I thought was coming down with a virus was actually a bad hangover-- apparently that last shift shot from closing the bar the night before was a little too much for me. Either way, I was feeling rotten and neither of us felt like cooking, so we headed down to the Hill, St. Louis' premiere Italian neighborhood, to munch on some tapas with one of our favorite bartenders.

Forgetting that Sunday night in a Catholic neighborhood meant that many restaurants were closed, we started driving around looking for a place where we could get some takeout and a glass of wine. We settled for a white tablecloth, fine dining Italian place in the middle of the Hill.

Walking up, I was a little concerned. I was in a decent skirt and a tank top which revealed my tattoos, but more or less decently dressed. My boyfriend, on the other hand, was in standard bartender fare-- ratty jeans and a silly t-shirt. Assured that we were just going to order to go and head out, we pressed on.

As soon as we walked in it was obvious that "our type" was not welcomed. The maitre d' tried to shuffle us to the far corner of the back patio. We insisted that we just wanted to order some food to go and sat at the bar, despite their efforts to hide us away.

Our bartender immediately gave us a warm and gracious smile and gave us waters. We perused the menu, though slightly incensed that the rest of the staff made us feel unwelcome. The maitre d' asked if we needed any explanation of the menu, commenting that he "understood that most young people may not know about most of the items on the menu." We explained that we were both in the industry and were very well aware of the foods. A second later the manager appeared to ask if we were quite positive we wouldn't be more comfortable outside.

After a little more harassing as well as the maitre d' snootily explaining the grapes of Burgundy (incorrectly! Then telling us we were wrong), we decided that we didn't want to patronize the place. We set about to finish our glasses of wine and chatted about the bar selection. One of the wines they served by the glass was just added to our own wine list, and I was commenting about how I didn't know anything about the obscure Italian grape so it would be hard for me to sell. I'll never understand how the kind bartender heard what I was saying, but as soon as I looked from my boyfriend to the bar to grab my glass of water there was a taste of the wine in front of me.

I was gracious about the wine-- I didn't want to feel as though I was looking for a freebie, but glad to know what I would soon be serving in my restaurant. The bartender was happy to have customers though, and treated us like gold as we traded industry stories and observations.

We had a few glasses of wine with the fine gentleman, and management came by to shoo us off once more. Before we could say anything, our dear bartender cut in-- "Madam, my guests are doing just fine. In the off-chance that these two have any questions about the menu, despite the fact that they have more industry experience than most of our servers combined, I'm sure I can help them." Turning to us, he went back to our conversation: "Now, if you like that wine, you should definitely pick this one up..." while pouring us another taste for us to comment on.

We hadn't said anything to the man that we felt harassed, but being the professional that he is he picked up on it straight away. The smile on his face made it obvious that he had been waiting quite some time to make his remark to management. When we finally asked for the bill, he apologized profusely about our lack of desire to eat there, with the undertone of understanding the reason.

Our $25 bill left him with a $25 tip. It would have been so easy for him to ignore us and we would have been fine with us. We don't go to a bar to be entertained by the bartender. But his keen observation and knowledge led us to have a wonderful experience, despite the rest of the staff trying to make us uncomfortable. Had we known we were dining there we would have worn better clothes, but it was a last minute decision that I still am glad we made.

lindy123-- After twenty-four hours on antibiotics, people with strep throat have a very, very low chance of infecting anyone; after 48 hours, that chance is even lower. Don't worry, I wouldn't risk infecting hapless passers-by, and neither would my mother. At the point of my story I had been taking antibiotics for over three days.

A place in Orlando who's name escapes me right now. Our server was funny, attentive (but not overly so), and seemed to know exactly what we wanted before we even looked at the menu. He wasn't pushy and was open about his experiences with the restaurant and his past.

Even if I've forgotten the restaurant and his name, I'll never forget the feeling of being so well taken care of at a restaurant.

I know it's nothing fancy...but my favorite wing place is Woody's in Cary, NC. Unfortunately, we moved away from Cary and now instead of being 5 minutes away...we are 40 minutes away. However, when we make the trek over there (not very often anymore...sadly enough)...the one waitress who's been working there for about 8 years now still remembers our name...still remembers where we like to sit...still remembers what we drink...and still remembers our wing order. Awesome!

Two weeks ago we took our little kids to a very nice Italian restaurant for dinner. We usually hire a babysitter, but this was a spur of the moment thing. Our waitress was especially kind and helpful considering that the restaurant was not geared for kids and had no kids menu.

She was full of kindness, and put us at ease about having the kids eat there. She was willing to bend over backward to find or even change something on the menu so that my kids were happy. (We ended up having the boys split an entree.) She waited on us hand and foot, and of course we gave her a large tip for the excellent service.

My husband and I went to Border Grill in Las Vegas. The restaurant was slow that evening, which probably made the experience a bit better. The waiter was charming. He could tell we were extremely interested in the food and spent a lot of time answering our questions. He was just what you want in a waiter: friendly, VERY knowledgeable, passionate about the food, and just chatty enough to make it fun without being obtrusive. It was a romantic occasion and he totally knew when to chime in and when to lay low. He brought us a complimentary appetizer, and while that's not the reason we liked him, free food never hurts! Really, that may have been one of our most perfect dining experiences ever, and a lot of that had to do with the service.

I see one winner. Who are the other four?