A Step-by-Step Guide on How to Eat at a Restaurant on Christmas

Each year, on December 25, the entire country shuts down. Businesses are closed, schools are on break, tumbleweeds roll through the streets. Most of America is at home, basking in the warm glow of yuletide cheer. However, some of us are not so fortunate. If you work in an essential industry, such as a police department, hospital, or Chinese restaurant, you don’t get the day off to celebrate the birth of Christ. And then there’s me. I work in a restaurant that’s open 365 days a year. That includes Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s, Easter, Ramadan, even 4/20. Having just gotten through three of the most exhausting days of my life, I’d like to share a few pieces of advice that would have made my life a bit easier this week.

Step one: Make a reservation (but be flexible)

Even if you think you don’t need one, a reservation at a restaurant is never a bad thing. This essentially guarantees you a table for the night of your booking. However, if your reservation is for 7:00 on the busiest night of the year, please don’t expect to be sitting down at your table at 7 pm sharp. Delays happen, mistakes are made, and sometimes, things just don’t work out. There’s a pretty good chance your party is booked for a specific table, especially if your party is larger than 4 people. It’s likely that another party has that table in the time slot leading up to yours. Meaning, if they are slow eaters, or particularly chatty, they may still be sucking down lukewarm coffee at 7:00, when you’re supposed to be sitting down to eat. My restaurant even imposes a time limit for larger parties, but we still end up behind schedule.

Here’s what not to do: stand with your arms passive-aggressively crossed right outside the only entrance to the bar, so I have to squeeze past you and your children every time I need ice. Bonus points if you glare at me, as if it’s somehow my fault that you have to wait an 30 extra minutes.

Here’s what to do: Be patient, kind, and understanding. We are working our butts off to create the best experience possible, and believe me, we’re all just as upset about the wait as you are (reservations running 30 minutes behind means we all get to go home 30 minutes later.)

Step two: You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit

Many restaurants bust out creative holiday-themed menus each year. The chefs worked very hard, giving their time and passion to make something special. Please don’t come in to a restaurant with your heart set on a certain item, and get fussy when you can’t have it. It’s disrespectful to the chef if you won’t order their food, and creates a headache for the entire staff. Some restaurants may even limit their normal menu to a smaller selection, due to the sheer volume of guests on the holiday. This is normal, and makes everything run much smoother. Unless you have an allergy or dietary restriction, please don’t berate your server because they only have mashed potatoes when you wanted a baked potato. Somebody worked really hard on those mashed potatoes, and you’re causing a scene, Brenda.

Step three: TIP

Servers and bartenders work incredibly hard for their money, and how much they make is entirely dependent on how much their guests decide to tip them. I’m not going to get in to the ethics of tipping, or the tipped wage system in this country in general. It is what it is, and I’ve come to peace with only making $4.35 an hour. However, stiffing your server as a form of civil protest is tacky and ineffective. Especially on Christmas, when I can guarantee that nearly every employee in the building would rather be at home with their loved ones, it’s very important to show your gratitude by leaving a sizable tip. I’m not saying you have to leave $100 (though it would be nice,) but try to leave at least 20%, assuming service was good. This is true for any time you eat out, but a crappy tip on Christmas day seems to sting even more. The waitstaff will appreciate your generosity, and they’ll need it. Once January hits, people begin going out to eat much less often, and restaurants slow down a lot. That extra $10 might allow your server to pay February’s rent.

The holidays can be a magical time of year, but for some, it’s an incredibly busy and stressful time. If you plan on going out to eat for Christmas, or any other holiday, follow these steps. You’ll make your server’s day just a little brighter, and isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

If I Were Still a Teacher: From the Diary of a Teacher Who Quit

If I were still a teacher, I’d be on the couch right now, half-paying attention to some NBC workplace comedy. I’d be distracted; my brain replaying the events of the school day, and creating possible scenarios for tomorrow.

When put into stressful or dangerous situations, the human brain is very good at adapting. Like a supercomputer, it analyzes data, and uses it to prepare you for what may come. Unfortunately, working on overdrive all the time comes with side effects.

I’d fall asleep after tossing and turning for about an hour. I’d wake up to my alarm at 6:15, reset it a few times, and finally roll out of bed at 6:45. I’d look through my closet full of clothes. I used to love dressing up for school. Picking a new shirt and tie combination, or pairing chinos and a particular sweater for the first time gave me something to look forward to. Instead, I’d opt for the same polo I wore last week.

I’d kiss my fiancée goodbye, lock the front door, and get in the car. Deep breath. Clutch, neutral, turn the key in the ignition. Press shuffle on Spotify. Deep breath. Pull out of the driveway, start driving. Deep breath. This song never used to make me cry before. Get to school. Contract time: 7:55 am. Arrival time: 7:57 am. Deep breath.

I’d smile as I greet the students in the hallway. “Music teacher,” and “Music man!” they’d call me. I’d try to feed off their excitement. To push away the creeping doubt and worry, and share in their enthusiasm. But inevitably, I’d end up in the same place. Sitting in my cramped office, anxiously counting down the minutes until my first class arrives, the fight-or-flight mechanisms in my body beginning to kick in.

To be honest, most of the teaching is pretty hazy now. What I remember clearly is the before and after. The Sunday night blues turning into Monday through Thursday night blues. The shortness of breath eventually turning into panic attacks. My prep periods, where I’d sit at my computer and google “Education related careers,” and “Kansas City jobs hiring now.” Because when you’re going into battle, it’s important to have an escape plan.

If I were still a teacher, I’d have a fulfilling career. I’d be able to say that I make a difference in the lives of underprivileged children. That I help bring the arts to urban youth. What calling could be more selfless, more noble? If I were still a teacher, I’d still be waiting for my work to fill me up, for the moment where all the stress and pain becomes “worth it.” And who knows, maybe that moment would’ve eventually come. But I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. And even though it hurt like hell to say goodbye, I don’t hurt anymore. Being a bartender doesn’t fill my heart with joy and purpose, but I finally remembered the things that do.

If I were still a teacher, I’d still be empty. But I quit, and now I’m whole.

OK, Boomer: An Ode to the 60 Year Old Manchild I Had the Pleasure of Serving

The chemistry was instant, and undeniable. You: a staunch man of 60 to 65. Your grey hair combed playfully up, to purposefully appear thicker. Your fist, pounding the air as you exclaim, “This is bullshit!” after I told you the mashed potatoes would be another 5 or 10 minutes. Me: just starting the second shift of my double. Fighting off the afternoon yawns. Trying to maintain my composure, in the midst of this absurd situation, for which I was in no way prepared. Your family: continuing to quietly enjoy their food like well-adjusted adults, trying to ignore Grandpa’s questionable behavior.

In a way, I almost feel bad for people like Papa Potato. Maybe it’s just the empath in me, but I can’t imagine going through life with that level of entitlement, or so severely lacking perspective. This man, this grown-ass adult, is sitting in a climate-controlled restaurant, with plenty of food in front of him, berating a 24 year old who makes $4.35 an hour and has to wear a bowtie, because some of his food is taking longer than he would prefer. Meanwhile, less than a block away, sits a homeless paraplegic veteran, shaking a cup and holding a sign, hoping to scrounge up enough cash to afford a hot meal. One of these people can afford to pay $50 a plate for his family of 10, the other doesn’t have a safe place to sleep at night. Guess which one is throwing a temper tantrum?

It’s getting a little old, hearing about how my generation is so spoiled, so entitled, so unappreciative. Any time I’ve ever been yelled at, talked down to, or in any way made to feel like I’m less than, it’s been somebody much older than me. On the other hand, when I greet a table of guests close to my own age, I breathe a sigh of relief, because I know that they’re going to treat me with some common decency, and leave a respectable tip at the end of the meal. Say what you will about the millennial generation, we generally treat each other like human beings, no matter our position in society.

I’m happy to say, I didn’t let his tirade ruin my night. I continued to bring refills and sides for their table until they paid out and left, and maintained my waiter smile and customer service voice throughout the night. But please know, every time you treat a service employee like dirt under your shoe, it gets a little bit harder for us to keep up the facade. Our smiles fade slightly, the cracks in our armor grow a bit deeper. Because we’re people too. And I’m really sorry if this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but the mashed potatoes are gonna be just a little bit longer.

My Goal for 2020: Be More Like the Alcoholic in McDonalds

There’s a lot to learn from his gin-soaked charisma.

Sunday morning. 9:30 am. I’m enjoying my Egg McMuffin in the lobby of the McDonald’s on Broadway. Suddenly, I hear from the counter, “Naw, I don’t mind waitin’. I’ll wait for you forever, honey!” A middle aged man is hunched over the counter, fishing change from his pocket. His skin is leathery and his hair is white, but there is a certain youth to his demeanor. He flashes the cashier a goofy smile, turns around, and begins making his way around the restaurant.

Having worked customer service for the past eight years, I immediately peg him as “that guy.” The “the-liquor-store-doesn’t-open-until-11-on-Sundays-so-I-hang-out-at-one-specific-restaurant-and-make-the-minimum-wage-employees-uncomfortable-for-two-hours” guy. Every Hy-vee I’ve worked at has had a liquored-up regular that made the casual dining area their stomping ground, and in my experience, they are demanding, cheap, and vaguely misogynistic. But what happened next made me eat my words.

He proceeded to walk around the restaurant, and say good morning to every single person. Race, age, or gender didn’t matter. This man was determined to look all of us in the eye, shake our hands, and wish us a pleasant day. I had finished my meal by the time he made his way to my booth, and this man, this total stranger, who was at least 30 years older than me, offered to take my tray. I was already about to get up and throw it away myself, but I was so caught off guard by his kindness and generosity that all I could say was “thank you so much.” Soon after, I gathered my things left for work, telling my new friend to take care, to which he replied “you too, buddy.”

What I took from this experience is two things. First: don’t be too quick to judge someone, especially by appearance alone. I know this is a cliché, but it really took the universe slapping me in the face with the wet noodle of my preconceived notions for it to sink in. Second: I think we can all be a little more like the alcoholic in McDonald’s. Any one of us could have told him to buzz off, but that didn’t matter. This man’s agenda for Sunday morning was to be pleasant and helpful to strangers, and he was going to do that. In 2020, I’m going to stop worrying so much about what other people think, or how they’re going to react to what I say and do. As long as my intentions are pure, they can say what they’re going to say. So, that being said, may I take your tray?