Senior Discounts May Draw Diners to Restaurants, Service Makes Them Stay

When you’re waiting tables, every sector of customers requires a different type of service. Families with children might want a more expeditious experience than a group of friends celebrating a birthday. Some people want chit-chat while others want distance. It takes experience to recognize what someone might want, but with time comes wisdom. When an elder diner ever sat in my section, I knew exactly how to serve them. 

The first time I was hired as a waiter was at Bennigan’s. The number of tests I was required to pass before being allowed onto the floor felt like I was studying for the bar exam instead of just studying a bar menu. I lived with my grandma at the time and she helped me study, complete with flash cards and pop quizzes. When it was time to take the final test, she knew that menu as well as I did. She could recite each and every ingredient in the Monte Cristo or a Bahama Mama without batting an eye. 

The first time she came to the restaurant to have me serve her, she brought her friend Irene. When Irene asked a question about the menu, Mammaw answered it before I did. “The chicken fingers come with french fries and cole slaw,” she said. I can still see the pride on her face when I served them their lunch. From that day on, I always treated an older diner as if they were my grandma. I gave them patience, respect, plenty of time, and a smile. These are all things I tried to give every customer, but with seniors it was easy to do. 

Twenty-five years later when I was working at a neighborhood bistro an older woman named Naomi was a regular. During our first few meetings, she didn’t seem to like me. She’d walk into the restaurant like she owned the place and sit wherever she wanted. She always stopped at the bench at the front of the restaurant to pick up the cushion and then carry it to wherever she sat because our booths were “too hard.” 

Whenever Naomi complained about the menu not changing often enough or how underseasoned the soup was, all I had to do was picture Mammaw Lillian sitting there and my frustration melted away. Over time, I realized that Naomi just wanted to talk. She lived alone right down the street and talking to us in the restaurant was part of her day, just like going to work was for me. I imagined my grandma living all alone after I moved out and how much she probably missed having someone to talk to each day. 

Over the years I waited on Naomi, I learned about her life and her family. Eventually, whenever I saw her blindly jaywalking across the street toward the restaurant, I’d get the cushion and have it ready for wherever she wanted to sit. When she was sick once, I took some homemade chicken noodle soup to her house, just a couple of blocks away from my apartment. After I served it to her, she was so happy to show me her home and I finally got to see the renovations she did in the 80s after she divorced her husband. The skylight she had installed over the bed so she could see the stars before she fell asleep was as cool as she had described it to me. 

When she died at the age of 86, I cried like I have never cried for a customer, probably because she reminded me so much of Mammaw Lillian. Every time I walk by her house, I think about her and I hope her son who lives there now appreciates the view of the stars at night. 

The gap between my age and the age of a senior citizen is rapidly narrowing, and the older I get, the more I like old people. When I was younger, it was easy to assume an old person was crochety and set in their ways, and now I know the truth. Their life experience has afforded them the luxury of knowing exactly what they want. And they deserve it. Mammaw Lillian thought she was just helping me learn the salad dressing list, but really she was teaching me how to treat people with dignity and respect and to always be ready to listen to the older generation.