Hi my name is Bruce and I will be your waiter tonite

Gnashing of teeth; gritting jaw; holding back disdain.  Why do American waitfolk do it?  Because Dummy, studies have shown that if you’re personable and person-identifiable in the good ole US of A, you get bigger tips, as besides which, the boss sez to. So, the other night in the village I pay my taxes in, I, my charming wife Colette and two of our dearest foodie friends are eating at one of Qayum Karzai’s places, he the brother of Hamid, the Prime Minister, who famously said that if he failed in Afghanistan, he’d go work in one of his bro’s places in Baltimore.  And…, the waitperson comes over and asks the usual “Would we like a drink, bottled or tap water, etc?”  And my sophisticated male friend asks “What is your name?” and she says, let’s say, “Mimi.”  I’m embarrassed, mortified, puzzled – why he, rich, privileged, buff and well-traveled would ask such a gauche, direct question.  So bashful though I am, I say, “What the f….. are you doing?”  And he says, I think you get better service if you connect personally with the wait-person.  And, maybe he’s correct. But one of the reasons I love eating in France, especially in Paris, is that the wait-staff is professional not paraprofessional (read – out of work actresses/intermittants), they know who they are, they are tipped according to a scale and/or their helpfulness, and they regard waiting table as an honorable job.   One of the best lessons Pierre Capretz taught me in “French in Action” was that "Il n’ya pas de sot métier," that is every job is important. I’ve, faut de mieux, come to love this” cultural difference.”  How nice in Paris to be treated like another food-loving patron, to be addressed like a mature human being, to be seen as a customer not a buddy.  (Does it bother anyone else to be summoned in a hospital clinic as “Next patient – John?” or asked by the internet help desk if I may call you “Spudsie” – or addressed by your first name in the Athletic Club?) France, and Italy and Spain’s wait-folk treat you like an adult.  I like that.  Sorry egalitarians.    ©2006 John A. Talbott