Mein Kampf: A Server’s Manifesto Presents…Hosts, Hostesses, and Other Related Swine

16 Aug

In this installment of our series Mein Kampf: A Server’s Manifesto we shift our focus from you, the public, to an in-house issue: hosts. There were many other topics ahead of this one on my list of prospective articles (if we want to be professional about it)/entries (if I wanna sound like a prepubescent female)/posts (yeah, that sounds a little more appropriate), but considering that I probably worked my last shift waiting tables last night, because of this one particular Shamu-esque, self-entitled, snotty bitch, I had to pounce on the opportunity. Let’s get to it.

Lemme preface this all by going on the record and saying that many of my favorite people from the restaurant I worked at were/are hosts and hostesses. They are usually kids that are still in school and just looking for a few extra bucks to pay for stuff, but don’t have the serving chops to apply for another position. Hell, when I first applied, they wanted to stick me as a host because I had never served before in my life. But after convincing them that I wasn’t some dunce, they threw me on the floor (note: they didn’t actually throw me on the floor, this is just restaurant speak. That would just be mean).

Now that that’s out of the way, let me make this analogy: if the restaurant were a football team, the servers would be the running back. They are the backbone of your team and is the way you consistently move the chains. Bartenders are like wide receivers; they only really do one thing, but a really good WR definitely helps out the entire team, especially if they are willing to block for the RB’s (run food, do other odds and ends). They even have that WR diva complex going on. Food runners are like a trusty tight end, they do whatever is necessary. They block a little, catch a pass here and there. In the end, you’re just happy you have a good one. Managers are like bumbling coaches and busboys are like gunners on a punt team: they get abused and do a job no one else really wants to do, but easily can.

Hosts? They’re the offensive line. The fat obnoxious kid who always showed you his dick in the high school locker room. In a game, you don’t wanna really know they exist; you just want them to do their job and get out of your way. When they stand out is when they’re making mistakes. A bad one fucks up the entire team. The quarterback is always on his ass, the running backs can’t find holes, the wideouts can’t catch passes. Everyone loses.

Everyone who’s reading this who hasn’t worked in a restaurant is asking themselves: how is a host so important? I thought they were just all like the pretty girl that Ryan Reynolds tried to bone in Waiting… and yeah, that’s what I thought too. In reality, they’re the same as you: a person who hates their job. But unlike the server, a host’s paycheck is not reflected on how nice/fake they are to the guests. They don’t give a shit. And they certainly don’t give a shit about screwing with a server’s money by sitting them with a lot of tables at once or no tables. They hold the key to everything, they know this, and love exerting this power.

Yeah right. In my fucking dreams.


To give you a little perspective, I’ll run down the last few Mondays I’ve worked. This hostess would routinely sit tables, no matter which server’s turn it is, because her fat ass didn’t wanna walk the extra few feet. She’d constantly sit servers with two, three, sometimes four tables at the same time, neglecting other servers. An actual conversation between her and another server:

Server: “Hey, how come you’re not sitting me? You see those two sections over there? They’re filled, Armando’s hauling ass and yelling at the Mexicans and throwing shit in the back again. My section is empty.”

Shamu: “What section are you in?”

Server: “…”

Or this one…

Manager: “Hey, can you count how many tables are in blue and red sections?”

<takes a little while>

Shamu: “21.”

Manager: “How many servers are in those two sections?”

Shamu: “Three.”

Manager: “What’s 21 divided by 3?”

<takes a longer while>

Manager: “The answer is 7. That is too much.”

In addition to bending all of the servers over, she would refuse to tell the cooks how many people were in the restaurant, but had yet to order. This is essential, because the cooks can then prepare for the onslaught if there’s something like 40 menus open in the restaurant, or kinda chill if there are only 5.

Unfortunately, this hostess was more concerned with consuming Hostess products than being an actual hostess. And this is inherently the problem. They get paid peanuts compared to everyone else in the restaurant so they don’t care in keeping their shitty job. Most of the good hosts and hostesses go on to be promoted to other things, there really is only one or two exceptions I can think of where that isn’t the case. In order to keep the restaurant working, you need every cog well-oiled and running smoothly. So maybe it isn’t the hosts themselves that is the problem; it’s the system that is in place. Give em more money and get people who actually want to be there.


Stop eating these and do your job.

Boy, it’s no wonder I needed to quit this job. I’ll turn my hate back on all of you cretins in my installment next week.

Dr. Klioze, paging Dr. Klioze…


One Response to “Mein Kampf: A Server’s Manifesto Presents…Hosts, Hostesses, and Other Related Swine”

  1. Landis Andrews August 17, 2011 at 9:04 am #

    I’ve never served a day in my life, but that football analogy was amazing.

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