The Server’s Drunken Conundrum

By Danielle Lattuga, 1-04-08

“We have a lot of money, and we’re never eating here again!”

They were standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, scattered like dirty laundry tipped out of a basket.

“Good, that’s good.” I exhaled the words with a snicker, my arms folded across my belly, my head cocked slightly to the left, jaw set somewhere between laughter and fury. My heel rested against the door, holding it open as my co-worker tugged on my arm, trying to get me inside before things got any worse. 

When I said, “Let’s take this outside,” I only meant let’s go outside and not disturb my other, polite, mostly sober and completely courteous customers.  I meant, let’s not let you embarrass yourself further.  She thought I meant, “Let’s rumble.”

Of course she did.  She was hammered and she was furious with me for refusing to get her a glass of wine. 

Between the six of them, they had ordered two salads, an appetizer and one entrée.  Apparently they didn’t intend to spend their expansive riches in our packed restaurant anyway. 

Intoxication is an interesting thing.  Especially when it’s up to someone else to determine if you are too intoxicated.  I’ve never enjoyed cutting people off.  Okay, that’s not entirely true.  When I worked in a bar, there were a few occasions in which I enjoyed it, only because they were people that got completely inappropriate with me, before I cut them off. 

But when you work in a nicer restaurant, in which liquor is not served, and most folks come in for the whole experience of good food and a nice bottle of wine or locally brewed beer, it seems exceptionally awkward when you have to refuse to serve someone more alcohol.  You don’t want to rain on their parade.  Really. 

On that particular night, the party in question arrived at the door clearly intoxicated.  The most ornery of the bunch (a fine featured blonde, wearing tight jeans and pink lipstick) was held up by her husband on one arm and another woman on the other arm, who was a bit tipsy herself. 

When they ordered a bottle of wine, I awkwardly stated, “I can’t serve you guys.” I should have been a little softer about it, in retrospect.  I’ll give them that.  They asked me “why?” and I responded, “Because you guys are hammered.” That was it.  I could see her talons flash as tapped her fingers on the table.  Her eyes narrowed.

“We’re not drunk.”

“Who’s driving tonight?” I glanced nervously around the table at a collective of unfriendly faces. 

The father and the husband said they were sober, and driving.  I told them I would get them a beer, if they liked, but I wouldn’t serve the table a bottle of wine.  And I shouldn’t have even acquiesced to that.

“I’m sorry.  I can’t, it’s my responsibility.”

And really, that’s what peeves me more than anything.  It’s my responsibility and I don’t think it should be. I don’t know where you were before you were here, and I don’t know where you will go after, and I have no idea how many drinks you had outside of this establishment, what your body weight is and if you are really walking home or if you fully intend to get behind the wheel of the car that you drove downtown in. But I have to make a decision based on what I observe in a few short minutes.

Sometimes it’s crystal clear, like in the case of my table of six, but most of the time, it’s not.  Someone can appear perfectly sober, and then they have a glass of wine, and all of a sudden, they are slurring their words and leaning slightly to the left. 

Once, this guy came in, sat down at our pretty little bar and ordered a glass of white wine.  I handed it to him, turned my back to fill another order and when I turned back, the wine was gone.  He peed on the stool and had to be escorted out.  He seriously seemed normal. I didn’t notice that he smelled funny from that distance.  Another time, a guy came in the back door (which should have tipped me off) ordered a glass of wine and proceeded to incriminate himself as an alcoholic in a manic moment.  He took one sip of wine, and all of a sudden his voice rose an octave and he was cracking jokes.  Then he snuck back out the back.

Even people who aren’t alcoholics can fool you. There have been nights when really nice people come in and they have clearly had a few.  In my most polite way, I’ve told them that I’d be happy to get them dinner, but I can’t serve them any more to drink and it still turns out badly.  They usually end up leaving after they’ve ordered food, but before they’ve gotten it.  It doesn’t matter how polite you are about it.  People get mad.  In reality, they are probably embarrassed, but the bottom line is, it sucks for the person that has the guts to cut you off, at least as much as it does for you, if not more. 

We’re supposed to keep our customers happy.  We’re supposed to make them want to come back.  We’re supposed to abide by the law, which is a stupid law, by the way.  It’s stupid because we are not often in a position to make that judgment, unlike the people who have spent the entire evening with you, and know you as well when you are sober, as when you are drunk.  It’s also stupid because really, only the person doing the drinking knows their limitations—or should. 

None of us want to contribute to a potential drunken tragedy, nor do we want to inhibit someone’s fun. It’s a conundrum that makes chickens out of most of us and bad guys out of those of us who try to do the right thing. In our Montana culture of drinking in our cars (I know, not anymore, technically) and smoking in our bars, accountability seems to become a little blurry in the eyes of the accountable.  Not one person has ever thanked me for cutting them off.  I always thought that having someone look out for you was a privilege worth gratitude.

The little blond got really boisterous after I refused to serve her and her family.  She bitched about it, loudly.  She was asked by one of my co-workers to lower her voice, and then they all decided to leave, while their meal was being prepared and our food cost increased. 

The rest of the party was standing outside when she came up to the bar and asked our dishwasher for a manager.  When I stepped up to the bar, she asked me again what the problem was.  I told her, again.  Then I looked at my other customers looking at us.  Their full plates sat in front of them.  I could see the pasta going cold.  That’s when I said, “Let’s take this outside.” The gleefulness of her response had “cat fight” written all over it, but still I went outside. 

One of the guys said to me that he liked to eat at our restaurant, and that this sucked.  I said, “I’m sorry.” And I was.  But the thing is, I would have been more sorry if I had knowingly served people who were already drunk and they went out and killed themselves or someone else.  It happens, too much.  I know.  I’ve known those losses, well enough.  And it seems crazy that I have to validate my decision with that sort of anecdote.  Shouldn’t the fact that one person in this world has suffered that kind of loss be enough?

I know it’s hard to cut someone off, but if you think you should, then you should, in your most polite and kind way. Offering to find them a sober ride should be part of your response. And if someone cuts you off, somewhere, in that drunk brain of yours, try to recognize that they are doing you a kindness, even if you feel humiliated.  If someone cuts off your friend, and they can’t see the kindness in it, be the friend that that reinforces that kindness, and rein your drunken friend in. 

Service to your fellow man trumps customer service every time.