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This just happened a few weeks ago actually...

My best friend, who I don't see very often, and I went to a late brunch in the West Village at an adorable cafe. We decided since it was such a nice day to sit in the back garden and enjoy some wine. Well that wine didn't come for 25 minutes after we ordered our food. When we told the waiter and he promptly brought us our, very full, glasses.

Our food was delicious and we were having such a nice time when the waiter asked to fill our glasses, we said sure.

Well the bill came and lo and behold...not one of the $9 glasses of wine were on the it. I mean, we weren't even mad in the first place.

The Ripper! hahaha.

Chicken wing dip!!! With hoity-toity ingredients, of course. Seriously, every time I make it there is a mad stampede for the fatty goodness.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.