Sometimes You Have to Throw a Hissy Fit

Don't you hate it when restaurant servers ignore you?

Sometimes when you're dining out alone, you just have to get mad. I was at a popular chain restaurant where I customarily go on my California-Oregon trips. It’s always crowded, and they always give you too much food, but the cooking is good, and I usually get there just in time for lunch, so that’s where I went on my most recent trip. Twice, in fact, coming and going.

The last time, I had a good seat overlooking the counter and the waitresses at work. My California Eggs Benedict (add bacon and avocado) was delicious. I know it was crazy busy, but once she served my food, the waitress forgot I existed. Forget another splash of iced tea or checking to see if my meal was all right. Or asking if I wanted anything else. After I had finished eating all I could ingest. I needed a to-go container and a check, but she never came.

She must have passed me 20 times without looking my way. She cleaned tables and folded napkins. Another waitress was nearby filling to-go boxes. I started waving with one hand, then with two. I needed to get back on the road, and they both looked right through me. Finally, I stood up holding my bowl of fruit and my purse, leaned over the counter where my waitress was folding napkins and said, “I need a box and my bill. I have to go.” Scowling, she handed me a plastic container and sent me to the cash register, where the hostess figured out where I had sat and what I ate. The electronic bill suggested a tip of 18 percent or higher. I clicked on the lowest amount and walked out into the 90-degree sun muttering to myself. 

Sometimes I admit to throwing a hissy fit. They deliver your plate and vanish. It’s better if I can be calm and say, “I know you’re busy, but I need to get going,” but sometimes I lose my self-control. 

My late husband was terrible about servers keeping his coffee cup full. If he had an empty coup, he would wave it around, and then he would yell. Loudly. Sounding furious. He was usually so mild-mannered, but he wanted his coffee hot and plentiful. Sometimes I would cringe. 

But you know, if you realize you are not being served, especially if you suspect it’s because you are just one person and are thus a low priority, you have a right to call attention to it. Do it politely if you can manage it. Forgive yourself if you lose your temper.

I couldn’t help thinking that if my brother, a big, imposing man, was there, he would not have been ignored. But this old lady reading her book? She can wait, right? Wrong.

In contrast, I also ate twice at the Heaven on Earth restaurant off I-5 in Quines Creek, Oregon. This family-run business has been going for fifty-one years. Imagine shelves full of pastry. Cinnamon rolls as big as your head. Endless rows of local-made jams and butters.  Christian guitar music in the background. Doug rushing forward to introduce himself and welcome you as a friend. Doug never disappeared; he checked on me often and had time to chat. His wife called me darling as I paid my bill. This is how you keep solo travelers coming back. Make them feel at home. 

A solo customer may take up a table but he/she doesn’t cause much trouble, not like a table of kids making a mess or somebody who wants special orders . . . I’m an easy customer. Feed me and give me enough iced tea, and I’m happy. 

Also, ask if I want dessert. So often they don’t ask. Or share the specials. I hear them give the whole spiel to bigger parties, but not to me. As if I don’t want to know? I  want the whole spiel. 

The moral of the story? Ask, and you will receive. Sit and fume, and you get indigestion. Don’t put up with it. 

A lot of you responded to my last post about dining alone. I didn’t expect to write a followup, but then there was that waitress . . . 

Have you encountered dining situations where you felt ignored? How did you handle it? What would you advise someone who is not getting the service they deserve? 

Readers who have worked in food service, what would you like us to do when we really need your attention? Do you consciously or unconsciously treat solo diners differently?

(Photo by Provincial Archives of Alberta on Unsplash)

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How did I end up alone? I didn’t have any kids. After my husband and I retired to the Oregon coast, far from family, he died of Alzheimer’s. You can read our story in my new memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.